Of Feelings And Fears
by ograndebatata
Summary: He doesn't like the ship. She is dreading the voyage. After they meet, both start having feelings for each other. However, they'll have to face disapproval and get through danger in order to have any chance of being together. AU. Rose/Officer Wilde.
1. Prologue: The Captain's announcement

_Hello, dear readers. Thank you very much for entering this webpage. I honestly hope you enjoy this story.  
_

_Well, for any of you who were fans of my King Kong story and are reading this, I apologize for not having updated that one in a while. I know it was a favorite from those who read it, and it was also a favorite of mine to write. I can only say that I haven't updated it because I have my reasons, and that I am now writing a Titanic fanfiction because I also have my reasons to do it.  
_

_For those of you who are fans of James Cameron's movie, this story is an AU, like I said in the summary, so don't be surprised if there is something that was in the movie and wasn't included here, or if I include anything that was in the movie. I mostly mean that I'm making changes regarding things that were discovered to be different from James Cameron's movie after it was released, but there will be other more specific things along the story. I will take the care to mention them at the beginning or at the ending of the chapter where they appear.  
_

_Lastly, here is the mandatory disclaimer. I don't own anything contained within this story, except any original character that might turn up further into it, or the plot in itself.  
_

_So, without further ado, let us begin. _

* * *

**Prologue – The Captain's announcement**

_Southampton, onboard the RMS Titanic, at the officers' mess, April 9__th__, 03:15 p.m.  
_

As he gave yet another look at his pocket watch, Chief Officer William McMaster Murdoch let out what had to be at least his fifth sigh since he had entered this room, and once again tried not to wonder how serious the issue that had brought him here could be. It had almost been ten minutes since he and the other six officers on the ship had been summoned to the officers' mess. According to the steward who had summoned him – and presumably the other officers as well – the Captain had important news to tell them, but Murdoch didn't have any idea of what that news was. And judging from the looks on their faces, the other officers knew about as much as he.

Not only that, but, they had looked at Murdoch as though they expected him to at least have some information, until realizing that they all knew the same, and waiting for the Captain to arrive, like Murdoch himself was doing.

But if waiting hadn't been a problem at first, it was making them all nervous by now, to the point where the atmosphere in the room was starting to become suffocating. Third Officer Herbert Pitman and Fourth Officer Joseph Boxhall both seemed to be itching to have a smoke to calm down – which they couldn't do without ruining the room – while Second Officer David Blair and Fifth Officer Harold Lowe had an obvious quiver on their feet, as if they were about to start pacing around the room. Sixth Officer James Moody managed to keep calm, standing quietly at his spot, but his eyes darted in every conceivable direction at erratic intervals, as if he was keeping him himself busy by trying to spot anything out of hand.

Trying not to be affected by so many different signs of nervousness, Murdoch slipped his pocket watch back into his pocket, and gave another look around. He had no more luck than on all the times he'd done it before. Captain Smith was still nowhere to be seen.

And some people in the room weren't up to waiting much longer.

"How long do you think he's going to take?" came a muffled whisper from his left side.

A sliver of a frown appearing on his face at the question, Murdoch turned to the one who spoke: First Officer Charles Herbert Lightoller. He was the only one besides Murdoch and Moody who seemed to not have succumbed to nervousness yet, but it was clear he was at least growing tired of standing around in a room without knowing anything.

"How do you want me to know that, Lights?" Murdoch muttered. "I'm not a fortuneteller."

Lightoller nodded at him.

"I know that," he replied, still speaking in a whisper. "I just thought you might have an idea of why it's taking him so long – and of why he wants to talk to us, for that matter."

A tiny hint of a glare came to Murdoch's eyes, helped by the nervousness built up during the wait.

"I'm here as well, am I not?" he almost snapped.

The moment the sentence left his mouth, Murdoch wished he could take it back. Not necessarily because of the words, but of the harsh tone they'd been spoken in. Besides not being fair for his friend to be spoken at like that, that reply had drawn the gazes of everyone else in the mess.

Masking his discomfort, Murdoch gave them his best stern look. It seemed to work, as all of them averted their eyes from Murdoch and Lightoller, but it had the strange secondary effect of causing two other pairs of mutterers to gather. Lowe and Moody moved to one of the room's corners and started their own hushed conversation, and Boxhall and Pitman stood by a table before starting to talk as well. Blair simply looked around at the walls, as if trying to find something to distract himself with.

"I'm sorry I asked," Lightoller eventually let out in the same hushed tone he'd been using until now. "But you're the Chief Officer, Will. Next to the Captain, you're supposed to be the one better informed of what goes on around this ship."

Had Lightoller's tone been different, Murdoch would think he was being accused or insulted. But although he knew his friend was just stating a fact – and had even done so in an apologetic manner – he felt angry. But most of that anger was directed at himself, for not knowing what had brought them all here in the first place like he was supposed to.

"I'm still not the Captain," it was all Murdoch could mutter, an ashamed look on his face. "There are bits of information that get to him first for sure."

This time, Lightoller simply nodded, as if to say, 'Fair enough.'

But a heartbeat later, the sound of footsteps was faintly heard over the hushed whispers of the other two pairs that talked. Turning around, Murdoch saw Blair edging his way toward him and Lightoller, apparently not having found anything else to distract himself with, and not wanting to be standing alone.

He stopped for a moment after Murdoch had turned around, but after a few seconds of not being turned away, he approached more confidently, until he was close enough for Murdoch and Lightoller to hear him speaking in the same hushed tone they'd been using.

"Are you sure you don't have any idea of why we're here, Mr. Murdoch?" Blair asked.

Pushing back a flicker of annoyance at hearing the same question twice, Murdoch whispered, "I already say I don't, Mr. Blair."

In an attempt to change the conversation's topic, he added, "Or rather, I can think of a few possibilities, but I don't find any of them likely."

Blair nodded, apparently finding himself lucky that he'd gotten that answer at all. Lightoller, however, spoke up again.

"You think the _Titanic_'s maiden voyage is going to be delayed again?" the First Officer ventured.

Murdoch's eyes narrowed in puzzlement.

"Can't see why," he said after a few moments with a shake of his head. "After all, the only thing that could make us do it was a lack of coal, and that problem was already solved by putting other ships' coal in here. If there's any other reason to delay the maiden voyage, it's none I can think of."

Even as he spoke, Murdoch fervently hoped that such meant there were truly no other reasons for the _Titanic_'s maiden voyage to be delayed for a second time. His position in this ship – Chief Officer – was a big jump from the First Officer position he'd occupied at the _Olympic_, the _Titanic_'s sister ship, and the last ship where he'd been before being transferred to the _Titanic_. He could only imagine the trust his superiors at the White Star Line had to have in him to give him this position. And although he had yet to fulfill his duties in fullest, he was determined to show he was fit for the role, and that he deserved to eventually be given his own command – which, for all he knew, could be the _Titanic_ herself in a faraway future.

"Maybe it's got something to do with that coal fire," Lightoller ventured again. "Maybe it's been put out already, but the damage is big enough that the ship has to head back to Belfast for repairs."

Murdoch shook his head again. He'd considered that option, but he'd quickly discarded it.

"I don't think so either," Murdoch replied. "That fire's been burnin' on for days, and no one thought it was serious enough to delay the voyage until now. And there's no way it could have caused enough damage to delay the voyage all of a sudden. I inspected it only a few hours ago, and it didn't seem to be causing any damage."

_Other than cutting our coal supply shorter than it should be._ Murdoch thought. _Or giving the poor chaps workin' there an extra torture to endure once we get underway. _

Murdoch could almost feel himself fainting upon thinking that. He remembered the temperature in that boiler room when he'd checked on the coal fire. Although he hadn't been there for that long, and hadn't actually gotten near the fire, it had been more than enough to wet his clothes with sweat. To have to endure it while filling fiery furnaces and pushing wheelbarrows full of coal had to be an absolute torture.

Quickly resuming the conversation to cut off his thoughts on the hellishly hot core of the ship, Murdoch said, "Whatever it is the Captain wants to tell us, wondering about it won't do any good. Let's just keep quiet, and hope he comes soon."

Both Lightoller and Blair gave him puzzled looks upon his putting of a full stop to their conversation. But an instant afterwards, their thoughts went away from the Chief Officer's remark, and their eyes locked on something behind him.

Noticing their change in focus, Murdoch turned around, right as the officer's mess door was fully opened. Then, at long last, in came Captain Smith, looking like the perfect picture of the classic Captain with his white beard impeccably groomed and his uniform so tidy and creaseless that it looked brand new.

However, there was another man who walked in after Smith. When Murdoch saw him, his lips parted, and a barely audible gasp left his mouth.

Tall, stocky, and dark-haired, the second man was Henry Tingle Wilde. Like Murdoch, he too had come from the _Olympic_, where he'd filled the position of Chief Officer. Murdoch considered Wilde a good friend, and knew the feeling was mutual, but upon seeing him now, he felt his heart drop to his gut, as everything suddenly fell into place.

Wilde had come aboard the _Titanic_ only a few days after she had arrived to Southampton, so he could help getting her ready for her maiden voyage. Considering he'd been the _Olympic_'s Chief Officer for several of her voyages, Murdoch had automatically started considering that Wilde might be occupying the same position on the _Titanic_. He'd even gone as far to tell that to his sister Peg on the letter he'd written to her yesterday, and to discuss it with his wife Ada after she'd come to visit him on the ship.

But it was only now that he saw Wilde walking in after Captain Smith that he understood that the possibility he'd considered had become reality.

Something started to squirm inside his chest at the realization, but Murdoch couldn't even properly focus on it, as something else came to fill his attention.

Looking as though he wanted to hit someone, Lightoller again leaned toward his ear, and demanded in a hiss, "What's that moron doing here?"

Murdoch barely stopped himself from flinching. His friend's voice had been so full of venom that a viper's bite seemed harmless in comparison.

And it had also been too loud, for Wilde's head shot up when Lightoller spoke.

"_I heard that,_" Wilde mouthed at Lightoller, his facial expression calm, but his eyes narrowed and trained on the First Officer – as of now, at least.

Meeting Wilde's gaze, Lightoller clenched his fists, but neither man made any other move that betrayed hostility. However, it was enough for the atmosphere inside the officers' mess to thicken from tension with the speed of a lightning-strike.

Fortunately, there was practically no one in the room to speak up without risking the consequences, and the Captain either hadn't heard them or had purposefully ignored their exchange, for he purposefully strode further into the room, with Wilde following after him. Eventually, Wilde stopped, but the Captain kept on moving, forcing many of them to turn around so they keep following his walk without craning their necks. However, Blair, unlike all the junior officers, kept looking at Wilde, a confused and worried look on his face. He'd definitely arrived to the same conclusion that Murdoch had reached.

But even Blair turned to face the Captain when he finally reached his destination and turned around to face them, standing tall and firm as only he could do it.

"Good morning, gentlemen," Captain Smith greeted warmly after he stopped and turned around to face them. "My apologies for keeping you waiting, but there were unexpected issues to sort out."

Smith's words were acknowledged with a few scattered nods, before everyone's gaze further focused into him, as if to draw the words he was going to say now. The only exceptions were Murdoch, who felt a sudden urge to beg Smith not to speak, and Lightoller, who kept glaring at Wilde as if the man's presence was one of the issues that needed to be sorted out.

The Captain gestured toward Wilde, and at long last, everyone's gaze turned to him. To Murdoch, it seemed as if most of them hadn't even noticed Wilde's presence before.

"For those who do not know him yet, this is Mr. Henry Wilde," Smith clarified. "He has served on the _Olympic_ as Chief Officer on several of her trips."

Smith paused, as if to make sure everyone was listening to him. Murdoch could already feel his throat and chest growing tight – but again, he was the only one. Lightoller kept glaring at Wilde, and the other officers seemed to be still wondering what would come next – except for Wilde, who took the moment to glance at Murdoch.

'Sorry, old pal.' Murdoch read in the man's expression.

But Murdoch didn't have time to even feel the slightest bit touched before the Captain spoke again.

"And as a result of that, the White Star Line has decided that he's going to step in as the _Titanic_'s Chief Officer for her maiden voyage."

Looks of understanding dawned upon most of the faces, but they lasted only instants before being replaced with either confused or inquisitive ones. Lightoller's, however, had anger added into the mix.

Murdoch felt the squirming in his chest growing more intense, and being joined by a considerable weight. Although he had already known what the Captain was going to say, actually hearing the words was still painful.

"However, to allow for him to step in…" Smith turned his eyes to Murdoch. "You will have to become First Officer, Mr. Murdoch…" the Captain's gaze shifted to Lightoller. "..and you will take the position of Second Officer, Mr. Lightoller."

Murdoch grimaced as though he'd been punched. While being knocked back to First Officer still wasn't as bad as if he'd been knocked back to Second Officer or something – but it was a comedown from the position of Chief Officer he'd been looking forward to fill.

Meanwhile, Lightoller's look of anger doubled in intensity, and his mouth opened as if one outraged shout was threatening to burst its way out of it. Even in his downcast state, Murdoch felt fear flaring through him at seeing Lightoller about to shout at the Captain – but thankfully, Lightoller seemed to second-guess his actions and closed his mouth. Even though Lightoller's angry gaze remained as strong as before, Murdoch sighed in relief. Bumped down or not, an officer just didn't shout at his Captain, even if said Captain was as understanding and kind as Edward John Smith.

"What about me…" Blair spoke up sounding as if he was afraid of being told that someone he loved was slated to be executed. "… I mean, the rest of us?" he quickly added, tripping over his words as he added that bit.

A trace of regret and pity made its way onto Smith's face, as his whole posture stiffened even further.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Blair," Smith said. "But it has decided that you are to be removed from the roster and stay here at Southampton. The junior officers, however, will retain their current posts."

At those words, looks of relief made their way onto the junior officers' faces. But Blair looked about to crumble apart more quickly than a porcelain vase hit with a mallet. He opened his mouth several times as if he was trying to form words, but closed it back again on each of them without uttering a sound. After his last attempt, his legs seemed about to falter underneath him, and it was at the last moment that he managed to pull a chair and fall back onto it rather than on the floor.

"To all those concerned, this reshuffle is only meant to last until the return voyage from New York," Captain Smith said in a kind tone, particularly focusing on Blair as he said that. "When you leave Southampton under the next Captain's command, the original roster will be reinstated."

Blair barely perked up at those words. And Murdoch fully understood why, because the same happened to him. After all, ships' maiden voyages were unique experiences by themselves. And the maiden voyage of a ship like the _Titanic_, the grandest in the whole world was more unique than any other could ever dream of being. Even Murdoch felt it, even though he'd been First Officer on the _Olympic_, which was barely smaller than the _Titanic_, – albeit noticeably less luxurious – on her maiden voyage. If even he, who would get to stay on the ship, and didn't find her as extraordinary as practically every other of her officers did, still felt his heart being weighed down inside him, Blair was bound to feel much worse.

If the circumstances were different, Murdoch would have already gone over and patted the man's back, before grumbling the most comforting words he could muster without having his virility questioned.

"Now, to those whose positions have changed, be sure to familiarize yourself with the new duties," the Captain added. "As for the others, do your best to inform the rest of the crew about the reshuffle."

An edge of apprehension stabbed at Murdoch. He knew the First Officer's responsibilities couldn't be that different here from what they had been on the _Olympic_, but the truth was still that he'd been familiarizing himself with the Chief Officer's duties for quite some time. And now, he only had a day to break out of all those habits and get new ones.

"This will be all for now," Smith finished. "You may go."

Feeling the weight on his chest being pushed deeper, Murdoch started turning around and moving toward the door, as all the others did so at their own speeds. But before most of them had even started walking, the Captain spoke up again.

"Oh, I nearly forgot. Mr. Wilde and Mr. Lightoller, do come here for a moment."

As the rest of them kept walking out, Murdoch saw Wilde and Lightoller glancing at each other with absolute precision, ill-disguised contempt on their faces.

At any other time, Murdoch might have wondered what Smith could want from his two friends. But on this occasion, he just ambled out of the room, trying to digest the fact he'd not fill the position he'd looked forward to for so long, and heading toward the one person in the world who could cheer him up at a time like this.

* * *

_On the starboard side of the Titanic's Boat Deck… _

The moment he stepped out onto the ship's uppermost deck, Murdoch saw her, sitting on one of the deck chairs outside the gymnasium, where he'd left her waiting before heading to the officer's mess. She'd been visiting him since yesterday, and although he hadn't had a lot of time for her, and had even wondered whether she should be here, by now Murdoch was more than happy to see her again.

The sight of her was enough for a warm smile to stretch his lips as he started walking toward her. He'd always been unable to stop himself from smiling at her whenever he returned from a long voyage overseas, and although this time he'd seen her less than an hour ago, his subconscious was determined to grasp any source of joy it could find. However, this time his smile vanished after he'd taken about a dozen of steps. Although he always liked seeing her, nothing changed the fact he'd just gotten bad news.

Even before he got halfway to her, his wife seemed to have sensed his presence, for she turned her head right to look at him. At first, she gave him a smile like the ones only she could give, but like it had happened to his', it quickly vanished.

"Will?" Ada asked upon seeing him. "What happened? What did the Captain say?"

Instead of answering, Murdoch gave a look around to make sure no one was watching, and then leaned over to peck his wife's lips in greeting.

She returned the gesture, but the inquisitive look that had come to her face after she'd asked the questions didn't disappear.

"Thanks for waiting, Aid," he said from the bottom of his heart as he sat down on a deck chair by her right side. Again, his subconscious seemed determined to grasp any good thing that came up.

At first, Ada seemed puzzled over his reaction, but then, she grasped his hand comfortingly, and said, "Of course I waited, silly. I'd wait for you forever if I had to."

Murdoch gave her a small smile as he heard that. She had told him those words before, but he knew she meant them every time she spoke them.

Still grasping his hand, Ada fully turned over to him, and asked, "Do you want to tell me what the Captain told you, or do you want me to wait until you're ready?"

The brief joy he'd felt upon seeing her vanishing, Murdoch let his head drop a little. He didn't want to give Ada the news – she had been thrilled for him upon knowing of his promotion – but she deserved to know, and if he was to wait until he was ready, he probably wouldn't have enough time before the ship sailed tomorrow.

After removing his cap and setting it in his lap, Murdoch finally said, "It happened, Aid."

He hoped that those words would be enough to make her understand, but they weren't, for Ada raised an eyebrow at him.

"It happened?" she said. "What happened?"

He gave her no reply at first, but thankfully Ada didn't press the subject, and instead narrowed her eyes. After a few moments, however, they widened slightly, as her grip on his hand slackened a bit, and she asked, "Do you mean… Wilde..."

"Yes," Murdoch said with a curt nod. "I'm no longer the _Titanic_'s Chief Officer. Harry has been chosen to step in after all."

The weight in his chest seemed to return, but this time it was stronger. Somehow, the fact he'd said those words gave the fact one sense of finality that nothing would be able to undo.

Her look sympathetic, Ada grabbed his hand again, this time in both of hers, and started caressing the back of it. Normally, Murdoch would have at least looked around to make sure no one was watching, but this time he didn't even consider the option. He just let himself enjoy his wife's comfort.

"I'm sorry, Will" she said. "I know how much you were looking forward to it."

Murdoch nodded sadly, and Ada squeezed his hand comfortingly in response, while giving him a slightly sad, but comforting smile.

"To tell the truth, I'm not the only one bumped down," Murdoch added, feeling a stab of guilt at thinking he was the only one affected. "Lights got demoted to Second Officer – and poor Blair has to sit out of the voyage altogether."

Ada gave a sympathetic nod of acknowledgment, but she didn't voice her pity for either of them. Not that he'd mind if she did, but none of them were close to her after all.

"But is it for this voyage only, or is it more permanent?" Ada asked.

"It's for this voyage only," Murdoch replied. This time, he felt at least a flicker of relief at knowing that. "The Captain said that the next time the _Titanic_ leaves this dock, I'll be Chief Officer again."

Some relief came over Ada's face, but there was still a bit of sadness in her expression.

"But it won't be the same, will it?" she asked.

A slight prickle coming at his heart, Murdoch let out a small sigh, and whispered, "It won't."

Again, Ada squeezed his hand reassuringly.

"It'll be alright, Will," she said, speaking as though she wanted to make it happen just because she'd stated it.

For a brief moment, Murdoch had the impression he heard something tapping against the ship's deck at regular intervals, but he paid it no mind. Instead, he smiled warmly at his wife.

"You're right, Aid," he finally said. "I'll live."

That much he knew. Although this was a considerable setback, it wasn't exactly the first he'd had in his career. And he was a grown man. He could deal with it.

"Thanks for your support," he said, putting his free hand over hers.

Ada smiled at him, and then started leaning forward. Guessing her intentions, Murdoch returned the smile and did the same, but then, out of nowhere, Ada froze, and her kind smile morphed into a glare, as she let go of Murdoch's hand and looked at something which seemed to be behind him and to his right.

Wondering what it could be, Murdoch turned around to see what had caught Ada's attention. And again, he felt a slight stab in his heart as the sight of the person who'd just arrived reminded him of the position that had been so close to being his'.

A regretful look on his face, Wilde averted his eyes from them slightly, and said in a voice slightly lower than usual, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you."

Murdoch shrugged as if to say he didn't mind, but Ada looked Wilde in the eye and demanded, "What are you doing here?"

His look neutral in spite of having been snapped at, Wilde said in a calm tone, "I need to talk to Will for a moment, Mrs. M."

Shifting his eyes toward Murdoch, he added, "May I?"

Murdoch hesitated before replying. He didn't have to be a genius to realize that Ada was quite angry at Wilde – even though they'd always gotten along fine on all the times they'd met so far – and would be better if she wasn't close to him over the next few days. But at the same time, Wilde seemed contrite enough over the reshuffle, and he was Murdoch's friend. He deserved to be heard.

"Sure, Harry," Murdoch replied. "Sit down."

Behind Murdoch, Ada nodded stiffly, but as she did so, she shuffled in her deck chair with such intensity that she appeared to be trying to root herself to her seat.

Giving her a calm nod, Wilde pulled a folded deck chair from the wall, and after opening it up, set it on the deck and then plopped down on it.

The three of them stayed in silence for a moment, and then, Wilde removed his cap, turned toward Will, and spoke up.

"I'm sorry I had to bump you down," he said. "I'd really prefer if I didn't have to do that."

Murdoch nodded. Wilde's tone was honest, but there was really nothing Murdoch could tell in reply to that apology. But Ada kept glaring at him, as if his presence was simply inexcusable.

"In fact, if it makes you feel better, it was only by a hairsbreadth that I didn't turn down this assignment all together," Wilde added in an uncertain tone, as if he wasn't sure of whether he should have said it.

His discomfort temporarily forgotten, Murdoch sat up straight and looked at his friend, his eyes wide in puzzlement. Up until now, he was sure that any officer in the White Star Line would give just about anything to be part of the _Titanic_'s crew. For that matter, even the stewards, firemen, and stokers had been more than eager to sign onto this ship. Although there had been passengers who had cancelled their passages, and there had been crewmen who either hadn't turned up or had quit the crew, Wilde had literally been the first person Murdoch had met who said would rather not be on the _Titanic_.

"Why is that?" Murdoch asked, not bothering to disguise or tone down his puzzlement.

"Why didn't you do it then?" Ada asked a heartbeat later, her words driving a proverbial spear into Wilde.

The now Chief Officer of the _Titanic_ averted his eyes from them and grabbed his cap, swirling it around for a few moments before setting it back on his lap and looking at them again.

"Well, I was hesitant to do it because I didn't want to bump you down, old pal," Wilde finally replied.

Murdoch nodded. Even though that didn't change the fact Wilde had bumped him down, it still gave him a bit of relief to know Wilde had at least taken his feelings into consideration. He'd met men who wouldn't do it. At the same time, he noticed Wilde had mentioned neither Lightoller nor Blair, but the truth was that Wilde didn't like Lightoller, and his relationship with Blair was almost less than an acquaintanceship. There would be no reason for Wilde to take the feelings of either of them into account, at least to a great extent.

Still, Murdoch wasn't fully convinced. Although he didn't doubt that at least one of Wilde's reasons had been the one he had just voiced, he couldn't help but to feel there was more to his hesitance.

"As for the second question, Mrs. M… it was for many reasons. For one, I thought it'd be wiser not to risk my employment. The bosses could think I'd lost my mind by turning down this sort of assignment, and that could reflect on my future jobs."

Ada's stern look stayed as immobile as if it was carved out of stone. In fact, Murdoch had the impression it deepened a bit.

Wanting to help his friend avoid Ada's anger, Murdoch said, "I see where you're coming from. Considering the racket everyone's been making about how grand the _Titanic_ is, anyone is bound to be found crazy if he doesn't simply adore the ship."

Murdoch knew he could be exaggerating a bit, but not much. The _Titanic_ had been near-worshipped since before her launching on May 31st last year. Even though she was basically an improved version of her slightly older sister ship, the small difference in tonnage and size between the two of them, as well as the luxuries that had been added to the younger ship, were more than enough for there to be more of a frenzy regarding her than there had been with the _Olympic_.

"Also, everyone around me was telling me what a grand opportunity this was," Wilde carried on. "Chief Officer on the Ship Of Dreams, second in command of a floating palace, and all that. I was even told that with Captain Smith's impending retirement I could be next in line to becoming the _Olympic_'s Captain."

Ada's stern look again deepened, but Murdoch let out a bark-like guffaw.

Wilde captaining the _Olympic_ or the _Titanic _so soon after being appointed Chief Officer? As good as Wilde was at his job, a ship like the _Olympic_ would never be his – or any officer's – first command, at least in this day and age. Just who had been the idiot who came up with such a nonsensical comment?

Wilde didn't laugh, but a smirk stretched his lips for an instant, and he shook his head slowly just from recalling the comment.

"I know," he said. "I couldn't believe it when I heard it either."

At that moment, Murdoch got a strange feeling that told him Ada was about to open his mouth, and quickly turned around to grasp her hands, giving her a look that requested her to not tell anything yet. He wanted to hear Wilde to the end, and he had the feeling he wasn't done yet.

Sure enough, Wilde, now with a wistful look on his face, said, "And also, I just thought my children would be so happy if I accepted it."

Even as Murdoch let go of Ada's hand and turned around, Wilde smiled thanks to some memory, and said, "They got so excited when they heard I was going to work on the _Olympic_, I can only imagine how they'll be now that I'll get to work on the _Titanic_, even if it's only for one voyage."

At long last, Ada's expression softened, and she nodded to herself, apparently finding that reason the only one acceptable out of all the ones Wilde had given.

Although Murdoch himself still felt a little sad at not being Chief Officer anymore, he also understood why Wilde had done it. After all, his four children could do with any source of joy they could get, after the two tragedies they'd had to go through. Even though they had been sixteen months before, they had all been quite young – with the oldest being only ten – and children always took time to recover from such things.

Again, however, Murdoch could sense Wilde's hesitance. It was obvious that if he was doing this, it really was for his children more than anything else.

That was further confirmed when Wilde flickered his eyes from one end to the ship to the other, as though he was afraid some disaster would pop out of nowhere and wanted to avoid it before it happened.

And his unease didn't make any sense. Wilde was one of the toughest and bravest men Murdoch had known. He'd managed to keep a cool head even when the _Olympic_ had collided with the _Hawke_ seven months ago, which Murdoch knew from experience had been no easy feat. So why would Wilde be nervous now?

Murdoch started considering whether he should ask, but before he came to a decision, Ada decided to speak up again.

"I can't say I don't agree with your last reason, Henry," she said, now speaking in a sympathetic and understanding tone. "If I had any children, I'd try my best to make them as happy as possible."

Murdoch turned to his wife and smiled fondly at her, holding her hand again, "I would too, Aid."

A noticeable blush came to Ada's cheeks, and she looked down at the ground. On cue, Wilde stood up, and jammed his cap onto his head.

"Well, I guess I'll be leaving now," he said. "And if I were you, I would get going soon, Will. The Captain might be mad if he knows you're doting on your wife instead of seeing to the ship."

Murdoch nodded. "I'll keep it in mind," he replied.

Then, as if out of nowhere, Wilde's sentence made him remember something, which he couldn't help but get curious to know.

"Say, Harry, now that you mentioned Captain Smith… what did he want with you and Lights?"

Wilde's look darkened at the mention of Lightoller, but he quickly pulled himself together and said, "Nothing special. He was just telling us both that he – like the whole White Star Line – knows that the two of us have a relationship worse than that of a cat and a dog, but that Ismay asked him to tell us to make sure we do get along for this voyage. After all, also like the Captain said Ismay told him, it's the Ship Of Dreams' maiden voyage we're talking about, so me and Lightoller simply must get along."

This time, Murdoch didn't guffaw. Instead, he laughed more heartily than he should have been able to under the circumstances.

Asking Wilde and Lightoller to get along seemed as likely as asking the Loch Ness monster to come up to the surface, share a glass of scotch with the local town's population, and then start giving weekly tours to the bottom of its lake.

Alright, maybe that was an exaggeration. Both Wilde and Lightoller were professional enough to get along in spite of their extreme dislike for each other. But still, the picture of both of them trying to act civilized toward each other as their overall postures conveyed the fact they wanted nothing more than to insult each other with all their strengths at the very least was just too funny for him not to laugh at it.

"If I was simply told I had to do it, I'd probably be laughing too," Wilde muttered, sounding as if he'd swallowed some bitter medicine. "But considering I'll actually have to put up with Lightoller, the only thing I feel like doing is vomiting."

Not wanting to actively talk ill of his friend, or to support someone who did so, Murdoch simply nodded. Ada, however, was more vocal in her opinion.

"You men," she said. "I honestly will never understand how you can form such grudges for no reason."

Taking the chance that his wife didn't see his expression, Murdoch grinned to himself. While some men could form grudges for no reason, women weren't any less likely to do it in his opinion. He wasn't thinking about Ada especially, but he knew of some women who also formed groundless grudges, and which were, in a way, worse than those between men. But there was no way he was going to point that out to Ada. And thankfully, Wilde didn't make the remark himself.

"What can I say?" he asked as he shrugged. "I just don't like him. And I know he doesn't like me either, so at least we're in agreement. I don't lose any sleep over it, and the same happens to him for sure."

_Indeed._ Murdoch couldn't help but to think.

He'd seen both sides of the Lightoller/Wilde dislike – as both of them were his friends – and both of them seemed to feel exactly the same way toward the other. Which, like Wilde had said, was just fine, as it meant both were in agreement. At least as long as they remained professional enough to act as they'd always had, with neither acting on their dislike beyond getting a few verbal jabs on the other.

"Well, like I said, I'm going," Wilde replied. "Remember what I told you, Will."

In a lower tone, he added, "And again, I'm sorry things had to happen this way."

With that, Wilde gave Ada one nod of farewell, pivoted on his heel, and started to walk away.

Although not exactly thrilled at having to walk away from his wife, Murdoch knew he had to follow him.

Hoping to make this easy for both, he turned around on his seat and held Ada's hand. "I'm sorry, Aid, but I really have to go. There's still a lot to get ready, and most of the crew seem to require a lot of prodding to get working."

Ada nodded.

"I understand," she said, and Murdoch knew she was being honest. If she didn't understand, she'd never have married him to begin with.

"I'll see you tonight," he promised.

Then, unable to stop himself, he added somewhat mischievously, "Who knows, maybe we can even make one last try for a child before I have to leave, eh?"

Again, Ada's cheeks became much rosier than they usually were at that remark.

"I'd like that," she said, giving him the silly grin of a love-struck schoolgirl, which he still managed to get out of her on occasion.

Finding her too charming at this moment to pass up the chance, Murdoch leaned forward and kissed his wife.

In spite of her surprise, she quickly returned it, until they had to pull themselves apart for not to let their kiss escalate to levels that just couldn't be seen in public.

Then, with deliberate slowness, Murdoch stood up from his deck chair, helping Ada up as he did so.

"See you later, Aid," he said.

"Likewise," she said. "And good luck in getting the ship ready."

Exchanging one last smile, the couple slowly let go of each other's hands, until Murdoch finally turned around, and walked away, ready to continue getting the _Titanic_ ready for her departure tomorrow morning.

* * *

_So... this was my first chapter - or rather, the prologue. I hope you enjoyed it - but remember, I welcome any and all sorts of reviews, except for flames. Therefore, feel free to give me your opinion on this, no matter what it is. _

_Also, before any Titanic history buffs start pointing some things out to me, please let me give you a few informations.  
_

_1) According to a letter written by the real Henry Wilde, it was only on April 9th that he got to know he would be sailing on the Titanic for her maiden voyage, so it is historically compatible that it is only on April 9th that the other officers are informed as well.  
_

_2) However, on April 7th, the real Henry Wilde already wrote a letter which was sent from the Titanic where he said he was on it, but he wasn't sure if he would be sailing on her yet. At the same time, the real William Murdoch did write a letter to his sister Margaret (nicknamed Peg) on April 8th, and according to which he already seemed to be quite sure that he wouldn't be Chief Officer after all._

_3) According to that letter William Murdoch wrote on April 8th, his wife Ada was indeed visiting him, and according to a follow up letter he wrote to his parents on April 11th, he had left Ada quite well on the morning of the previous day, which could perfectly mean she'd either stayed with her husband on the Titanic until it left port, or that she'd come to visit him one last time before the departure. However, I confess I didn't manage to find anything that gave me final confirmation on either point. On a similar point, the real William Murdoch did affectionately refer to Ada as "Aid".  
_

_4) Regarding Wilde and Lightoller disliking each other, I confess I didn't find anything that proved it in a hard and fast manner, but I read several references to that, and with all due respect to the real Lightoller and Wilde, it seems the sort of thing permissible to include in a fanfiction. My apologies to anyone who might be offended by this interpretation of things.  
_

_Lastly, I obviously have no idea how the reshuffle took place exactly, or of how the officers were informed - or of who was informed first hand, for that matter. But it seems historically permissable that only the officers themselves were informed in a firsthand manner, as even some senior crewmen were known to be unsure as to who was the Chief Officer.  
_

_Well... this is all, for now. Like I already said, I welcome any and all sorts of reviews other than flames.  
_

_Thank you all for reading.  
_


	2. Chapter 1: Arrivals and reflections

_Hello, dear readers.  
_

_Thank you to all those who read and reviewed the previous chapter - and also to those who read only, of course. I sincerely hope you enjoyed it, and that you also enjoy this one.  
_

_To reiterate something I said on the previous chapter's opening note, this story is an AU, and as such, some things about it will not be the way they were in James Cameron's movie. Further specifications on that point will be on this chapter's ending note.  
_

_Also, I will not repeat my disclaimer, as I already have it on the previous chapter, and with all due respect I find it suffices for the whole story.  
_

_Now, let us begin.  
_

* * *

**Chapter 1 – Arrivals and reflections  
**

_Southampton Docks, White Star Dock, Berth 44, April 10__th__, 11.30 a.m._

Clouds were clustered on the sky overhead, causing most of the sunlight to be barred from the ground below. As a result of that, not only was a noticeable amount of warmth that would be welcome on early April prevented from getting through, but a large shadow had been cast over the area, as if the powers that be intended to decrease the frenzy around the grand ship moored on Berth 44 through a lack of sunlight.

However, by the side of the _RMS Titanic_, the excitement and the flurry of activity were so intense as if the sky was cloudless and the Sun itself had chosen to cast its brightest light especially for them. People eager to see the ship's departure gathered by, while porters dutifully tended to the passengers' luggage, hopeful that their service would get them some extra income. Motor cars and horse drawn carriages forced the crowds to part, as passengers made their way into the ship through their respective gangways, and the occasional crewman tried to plow his way through to get to the source of his pay.

In the midst of all the activity, a black and white Renault Enclosed Limousine made its way toward the ship, followed by a Daimler-Benz the color of milky coffee with two trunks tied to its back and a plain-looking motor vehicle with its trailer full of luggage.

The cluster of vehicles was given a wide berth by all those who saw it, until it eventually stopped, less than thirty feet away from the _Titanic_'s bow. The drivers slammed the hand-breaks on, and on the Renault, a tall man with an undertaker's dour look on his face, clad in a dark-grey suit and with a black bowler hat perched on his head, stepped down and opened the door, allowing the two maids inside the vehicle to get out – which they had some difficulty doing, thanks to the luggage they were carrying. Meanwhile, on the Renault, the driver's liveried assistant stepped down, opened the door on the car's left side, and held his hand out toward its interior.

From inside the vehicle, a slender hand covered in a white leather glove reached daintily into the assistant's hand. Then, a red-haired woman in a dark-blue two-piece woman's suit stepped out of the car, holding an umbrella of a color that matched the suit's in her right hand. Once outside, the woman – whose name was Rose DeWitt Bukater – stood straight and looked up at the mighty ship from underneath her round wide-brimmed hat, which was of a blue lighter than her suit's, and had a double bow of a blue that matched the suit's around its crown.

At first, Rose grimaced slightly as the strong – and rather unpleasant – smell of fresh paint coming from the ship reached her nose, but as soon as she caught proper sight of the vessel in front of her, her lips parted slightly, and a silent gasp left her mouth. Even though she was twenty-six years old, the sight of the _Titanic_ made her feel a kind of awe she hadn't experienced since her childhood.

She had both read articles about the ship and heard extensive descriptions of it from one of her travelling companions, but it was only now that she got to see it up close that she agreed with one of the epithets given to it by the press: the Ship Of Dreams. With polished black sides, a superstructure as white as snow, and buff-yellow funnels with a black rim at the top rising toward the sky like pillars, the _Titanic _was a ship that looked more than beautiful enough to have come straight out of a dream. Even the overcast weather could do nothing to mar the vessel's impeccable look.

A slight tapping sound behind her cut off Rose's thoughts, and brought her back to reality more efficiently than a slap.

Feeling a hint of disappointment at being snapped out of her contemplation, Rose carefully composed her expression into one of cool indifference, and forced herself to remember the decision she'd made this morning: that no matter how impressed she was at the ship, she wouldn't let some people know about it.

After being reasonably sure she'd succeeded at her goal, Rose turned around to face her fiancée, Caledon Hockley, a tall man with dark-brown hair, wearing a suit of a similar color, and a matching bowler hat. Like she had done, he was looking at the _Titanic_, but in addition to the look of awe and wonder on his eyes, there was also a pleased gleam, as though he'd had any sort of role in how the ship had turned out to be.

"I don't see what all the fuss is about," Rose said in a cool tone that matched her expression. "It doesn't look any bigger than the _Mauretania_."

With a snigger that had hints of both hopelessness and disbelief, Cal – as he was more commonly known – said, "You can be blasé about some things, Rose, but not about _Titanic_." He slammed his cane into the ground as if to punctuate his sentence, and carried on. "It's over a hundred feet longer than the _Mauretania_, and far more luxurious. It has a squash court, a Parisian café, a salt water swimming pool, a gymnasium – it even has Turkish baths!"

Rose gave no reply. She was far too used to Cal's tendencies to boasting and exaggeration. And although most of what he'd said matched what she'd read about the ship, he'd exaggerated on at least one thing. The _Titanic_, at a length of 882 feet and 6 inches, was only 92 feet – and 6 inches, if one wanted to be exact – longer than the _Mauretania_, which was 790 feet long. Although the difference was considerable, it was not exactly the over a hundred feet Cal had claimed. But had he been deliberately exaggerating, or had he bothered to check the figures to begin with?

Unaware of Rose's thoughts, her fiancé turned his head to the one currently getting out of the car, and held his hand out to help her step down.

"Your daughter is far too difficult to impress, Ruth," he remarked as his future mother-in-law held his hand.

With a quiet laugh, Ruth DeWitt Bukater stepped down onto the ground, subtly smoothed any creases she feared her dark-olive dress may have gotten during the ride, and only then looked at the ship with wide eyes and an even wider smile, her overall expression strangely reminding Rose of what she felt a famished person would look at the sight of a feast.

"So this is the ship they say is unsinkable," she remarked in an approving tone, apparently deeming the vessel grand enough to fit her standards.

Cal gestured with his cane toward the vessel again, and proclaimed like a grand show's host, "It is unsinkable! God Himself could not sink this ship..."

A frown of discomfort started making its way into Rose's face at such a statement. Although she had no doubts about the _Titanic_'s sturdiness, she had always been the sort of person to dislike exaggerations. The _Titanic _was still a human-made ship, and therefore could have room for errors, the same way it would certainly have room for improvements. But of course, Cal had to act as though his word was the supreme one.

Thankfully, before he could end his sentence in the exact manner he intended to, a raspy voice called, "Sir! Sir!"

Looking around at who had spoken, Rose saw a middle-aged porter approaching them, apparently pleased with himself at having to deal with such regal-looking customers.

Rose silently thanked him for the distraction, even as he informed Cal, "You have to check your baggage through the main terminal. It's 'round that way, sir."

As if that was his cue to practice a well-rehearsed gesture, Cal produced a fiver from the pocket of his dark-brown suit and slammed it into the porter's hand.

"I put my faith in you, good sir," he replied in a definitive manner. "Now kindly see my man."

The porter seemed about to protest, but as soon as he got a proper look at what he held, his eyes widened, and he quickly broke into a wide smile instead.

"Oh yes, sir. My pleasure, sir," the porter started thanking profusely, but Cal just nodded and turned away.

"If I can do anything at all to…" the porter tried to go on, but at that moment, Spicer Lovejoy, Cal's valet – the undertaker look-alike who'd come on the Daimler-Benz – gripped the man's shoulder like a thief pulling a passer-by into a narrow alley, and forcibly turned him around.

"Right," Lovejoy started commanding before the porter could say anything. "All the trunks from that car there, twelve from here, and the safe…" the rest of Lovejoy's instructions were lost as he got too far for Rose to hear him, but her eyes had no problem noticing the almost overwhelmed look on his face as the realization of how much luggage he'd have to deal with hit him.

Apparently, like on everything else, her mother and Cal had to go over the top with the amount of luggage they brought.

But before Rose could even feel sorry for the man, Cal again took her away from her thoughts.

"Ladies, we'd better hurry," Cal said as he snapped the lid of his watch shut and put it back in his pocket.

All too eager to board the vessel, Ruth immediately lead the way toward the gangway through which they were meant to board, but Rose let herself stay where she was, and it was only when Cal offered his elbow that she reached up to take it.

With the deepest breath she could take without calling attention to it, Rose started walking alongside her fiancée after her mother, her umbrella in her free hand. Behind the three of them her maid, Trudy Bolt, and her mother's maid, Alice Roberts, while Lovejoy stayed behind to make sure the luggage was loaded onto the ship.

All around them, everyone Rose could spot seemed utterly taken by the ship. The crowds gathered alongside it stared up in awe as if to get the feeling caused by the sight of it infused into their beings, while the passengers who had already boarded were gathered on the promenade deck of their respective class – easily identifiable by the passengers' clothes – and gazing onto land as if they too wanted to drink in the sight of it as well as possible before leaving. The only exceptions were the first class passengers, of whom there weren't many on deck as of now, as there was still some time before they had to leave, and most of them were certainly trying to get acquainted with the ship in the meantime.

Ever so slowly, the _Titanic _seemed to grow in front of her eyes – but instead of becoming more eager to be aboard it, Rose found herself wishing she could just detach herself from Cal's arm and turn away from all of this. No matter how beautiful, luxurious, or big the _Titanic _was, it would be a ship where she couldn't escape the reality of her engagement, which was already looking more of a binding than the marriage of most couples she had met.

Yet again, she wished she'd just had the strength and bravery to turn down Cal when he'd proposed to her, or the stubbornness for not to have been guilt-tripped by her mother into not breaking off the engagement. Even though there had been a time when Rose would have, albeit begrudgingly, accepted to get married to sort out a predicament she and her mother had been going through, that problem was more than solved by now, and both Rose and her mother would have been more than able to live their lives as they wanted if they had so chosen.

But her mother wouldn't have Rose living any life other than the one she'd outlined for her – and whenever Rose had tried to go against that, her mother had always managed to guilt her into remaining tied up.

And now, with Cal as her fiancé, breaking free didn't seem like an option even if her mother suddenly accepted Rose's dreams.

A silent sigh escaped Rose's lips, right as, right ahead of her, her mother finally stepped onto the gangway that would lead them into the _Titanic_. Upon getting there, Cal stepped onto it himself, and Rose raised her foot to do the same. But before the sole of her shoe could touch down on it, she let her foot hover there, as a sudden hesitation came to her.

Noticing that, Cal stopped as well.

"Sweet pea?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

Rose stayed where she was, her foot still hovering there. Now that she was right by the Ship of Dreams, she couldn't help but to feel that stepping onboard it would lead her into a very bad one.

"Please, don't hold us up," Cal remarked, pulling her forward by her elbow, and causing her to trip on the gangway's edge.

Thankfully, Rose managed to put her umbrella ahead of her to steady her fall. Her hat slipped a little bit on her head, but that was nothing compared to what could have happened if she hadn't managed to stop her fall.

"Are you alright, miss?" she heard Trudy call worriedly from behind the luggage she had in her arms.

With some difficulty, Rose righted herself up, but before she could say anything, Cal replied, "She's fine."

Unable to turn around in an inconspicuous manner to answer the question herself, Rose pushed her hat back on her head, setting it on its proper position. Unfortunately, the gesture caused her to catch sight of her mother, who had turned around to see what the commotion was about.

She didn't seem like she would speak, but Rose effortlessly read the message written in her expression.

"_Move along, Rose. It's inappropriate to stand there blocking other people's paths_."

Somehow managing to get surprised at her mother having another of the reactions she so much expected, Rose slid her arm back into Cal's elbow, and kept walking up the gangway.

As she did so, two thoughts came into her mind.

The first was that, all of a sudden, the gloomy skies over their heads seemed somewhat more appropriate.

The second was that, even though this was the Ship of Dreams, she already knew her crossing on it wouldn't be exactly dreamlike.

* * *

_On the port side of the Titanic's forecastle, 11.50 a.m._

His hands clasped behind his back to compose a more proper look of a supervisor, Henry Wilde walked around the area of the ship assigned to him until after the departure, his keen eyes searching for anything out of place or flawed in any manner, or for any crewman who appeared to be sleeping on duty. As much as he hadn't found anything of the sort during his previous inspections, he knew it did no harm to keep looking, and it could actually do some good, as it was far from unheard of for flaws that had avoided a number of inspections to be suddenly detected after yet another one. And while at this time, any imperfection serious enough to affect the ship's departure was likely to be one that could not be corrected in the time they had left, Wilde was nothing if not a man who took his duties as an officer seriously. He'd never have become Chief Officer otherwise.

In the end, however, this inspection followed the rule of all the previous ones. Nothing had been out of place as far as Wilde could see, and all the crewmen seemed fearful enough of getting his attention trained on them to be lazy.

Some satisfaction flickering through him at the fact everything was going fine, Wilde stopped, and gave a look around, thinking that maybe it would be better to stop for about half a minute before taking one last turn around the forecastle. He knew as an officer that it was far too easy for one to get caught up in monotony when doing the same thing for too long – most notably on bridge watches – and while Wilde had never been the sort to easily succumb to that, it was better not to take any chances.

After all, this had been a busy day so far. First he'd needed to get his sailing report done and delivered to Captain Smith at 07.30 a.m. Then, half-an-hour after that, there had been the Board of Trade muster, which had consisted of one last, very thorough inspection of the ship to make sure it was seaworthy – which it had been in the Board of Trade's eyes. Now, about ten minutes before departure if his estimations were correct, he was at the forecastle, inspecting the crewmen in charge of the local moorings and of the hawsers connected to the tugboats that would pull that part of the ship – with Lightoller assisting him.

That detail made this task the worst of them all. No matter how many rules and orders had dictated that he and Lightoller had to get along, Wilde couldn't help but to think it was a rather bad start for a voyage to have to work alongside Lightoller, an opinion which was shared by the Second Officer.

But, as both men remembered what Captain Smith had told them on the previous day, neither had thought about bringing it up when the task of supervising the hawsers and moorings at the forecastle had been assigned to them both, and simply tended to the duty with all the devotion they could muster. Fortunately, that duty didn't necessarily involve frequent interaction between them, and it had been no problem for Wilde and Lightoller to get to a verbal agreement that they would just work independently and speak up if they noticed anything wrong. However, during the few free moments he hadn't spent inspecting one of the crewmen's work, Wilde had already traded more glares with Lightoller than he cared to count – and certainly more than what had been advisable.

But he was only human after all. From the first time he and Lightoller had met, both had disliked each other with every fiber of their being. And although Wilde had occasionally wished it wasn't that way – he'd never been the sort of man who liked being engaged in hostilities – he'd never been able to start an attempt at changing things, or to even give some serious consideration to the idea. It could be seen as childish, and it was most likely stupid, but like he'd told Ada Murdoch the day before, he just didn't like Lightoller, period.

Kind of like with this ship.

Even if the press was going on and on about how wonderfully luxurious and sturdy the _Titanic _was, and even if it was virtually identical to the _Olympic_ – with which Wilde had no problem becoming comfortable, in spite of all the things on which she differed from the other vessels' where he'd worked – he had felt apprehensive about this ship from the moment publicity had started to give more attention to it. The feeling had only increased when he had first gotten the suspicion that he would have to go on board of it, and now that he was officially part of the crew, even if only for the maiden voyage, that feeling was stronger than ever. Thankfully he'd been perfectly able to forget about it whenever he had to devote his attention to whatever duties he had to tend to, but it was far too easy for his mind to go down that path if he didn't have anything else to keep it busy with.

Perhaps it would be easier if he felt he could talk to others about it, but Wilde told his thoughts about the ship to almost no one, as he felt people could find him an idiot for having misgivings about the ship that was so praised by everyone who knew about its existence. So, he had done every possible effort to look as calm about the ship whenever the subject was brought up in conversation, and on the few occasions anyone had asked why he 'looked that way', he had calmly stated that the interloper was seeing things. He had even taken the care to speak highly of the _Titanic _on the letters he'd written to most of his family members – though with them it was because he didn't want to leave them worried should he actually get to travel on the _Titanic_, not because he was afraid they would find him crazy for talking about his misgivings.

In the end, his sister had been the only one to whom he had opened up on that matter, but it had done less good than he would have liked. She had been as wonderful as always, listening to him attentively and treating his comments like things to be considered – in short, she had been the same wonderful elder sister she had always been. But she hadn't really agreed with him. She had simply said that he was seeing too much into things, and that the only reason why he didn't like the new ship was exactly because of how she was an improved _Olympic_, and the way that likened to havingall the sure statements about the _Olympic_'s sturdiness extrapolated to new levels, and how part of that related to not one, but two occasions in his life, which had taken place very closely, and had also involved a good amount of reassuring about a bright future that in the end hadn't been meant to be.

He couldn't blame her for trying to reassure him, and he at times actually thought there was some truth to her words, but no amount of comfort would make him change his mind about the _Titanic_. In the end, like he had told Murdoch the day before, he'd mostly accepted this job because his children would surely be incredibly happy if he got to be part of the _Titanic_'s crew for her maiden voyage, and without even coming down in rank.

Not for the first time, Wilde wished he was already Captain. That way, his children would be much happier for sure. And indeed, if things had gone the way they were supposed to, he would currently by in command of a White Star Line steamer – most probably the _Cymric_, or, if he was lucky, the _Oceanic_. But just before he'd been assigned to a ship, the problems caused by the coal strike that had started in January had started increased, and the ship he was meant to have captained – whatever it was – had met the same fate of so many others, and been laid up until further notice. At first, that had simply lead to Wilde remaining on the _Olympic_ for an undetermined amount of time, but shortly before leaving Southampton on her, he'd been told to stay behind, and then directed to the _Titanic_, And now, after almost a week of doubt whether he would part of its crew or not, he would have to sail on it – which was among the things he'd have wanted the least.

Just another side effect of the coal strike, in a way.

Still, even with his dislike of the ship getting in the way, Wilde managed to recognize on moments of serious thought about the matter that he had ended better off than many over the course of the coal strike, which had led to an ever increasing number of vessels to end up tied alongside docks over the four months of its duration, and lead to something like 17,000 men – an amount made up by stokers, trimmers, firemen, greasers, stewards, and seamen – ending up without a job, and in many cases, to end up homeless either, as their landlords gave them eviction notices without a moment's thought or sympathy about their financial situation.

And the worst part was that, once the strike was finally sorted out – which had happened exactly a week ago – it had done no more than stirring up a huge amount of tension on both sides of the conflict and creating innumerable problems for those initially meant to benefit from it, while hardly bothering those in the upper classes, like the people who would travel first class on this ship. After all, the miners were part of a world that the wealthy upper class had no idea existed, and did not understand at all.

Not that Wilde assumed he had a total understanding of those workers' suffering – after all, he'd never been a miner himself – but he'd been to the boiler rooms of several ships, and seen the sort of work performed there, which was at least enough to have a modicum of an idea of how hard it was. He imagined working in mines had to be much worse, considering the lack of light and ventilation, the temperature at over 100ºF, and the danger of being killed by an explosion or a landslide. And for most of those lucky enough to make it through all those things, death normally came in the way of some lung disease before the age of fifty.

Wilde was not a man who would shudder at the thought of it, but he was one who felt the workers did deserve something more than what they got for providing for so much of society. But for the wealthy few who had the power to actually make something about it, none of that mattered. They couldn't understand why the miners were protesting at all, and ultimately chose not to think about it.

And, he couldn't help but to think, the _Titanic_ had been built mostly thinking about the wealthy few that could afford travelling on it.

Wilde could feel his apprehension about the ship starting to escalate into near-dislike for high society, but then, with a forceful grunt, he stood as straight as he could, and drove those thoughts away. The _Titanic_ was a ship he didn't like, and it was indeed something conceived mostly for wealthy people, but it was also his newest assignment. And like all assignments he'd had before this one, he'd do nothing but to take it seriously.

Nodding to himself at that decision, Wilde started walking around the forecastle again, to carry out what he was quite sure would be his last inspection of the area before the ship left port.

* * *

_Well, this is it for the first chapter. _

_I honestly hope you enjoyed it, but I do acknowledge that there were a lot of things that most attentive readers probably picked up on and that may have prevented them from fully enjoying this chapter.  
_

_As this concerns both Titanic history buffs and fans of James Cameron's movie, I'm going to separate my explanations about the topics I feel may have bothered some people in two lists.  
_

_The first, as I'm writing a fanfic about James Cameron's movie, will be about the points that don't agree with what we see in the movie.  
_

_1) About the overcast weather I describe, yes, I am fully aware that in James Cameron's movie, the weather is sunny, with the only visible clouds being fairly scattered through the sky. However, I made it overcast, because that is the way it was on the day of the real Titanic's departure, and as this is an AU, I figured it was permissible to do that.  
_

_2) I am also fully aware that in James Cameron's movie Rose is 17 years old, but I took the liberty to age her a bit in this AU, for reasons that hopefully will become obvious as the story moves along.  
_

_3) For those with a sharp eye for the characters' outfits, I know that none of the costumes I had the characters wearing - except possibly Lovejoy - are the ones they wear in James Cameron's movie, and that Rose's outfit I describe in this story is the most dissimilar in color from the one she wears in the movie. However, some research I made revealed to me that travelling was a very dirty business in 1912, and although the Titanic was most certainly clean, as it was a new ship, all the characters would have to get through several dirty areas before stepping on it, and so would wear dark colors that might hide eventual smudges. So, I did my best to give their outfits colors suggested by pictures of the time. I honestly hope that, mostly in Rose's case, I managed to convey an alternate outfit similar enough to the one she wears in the movie - and enjoyable enough for those who give importance to costumes they picture the characters wearing. And for those who noticed, I mentioned Rose carrying an umbrella instead of a parasol because, with overcast weather, it'd make more sense if she was afraid of rain than if she needed to protect herself from the sun - although in theory, umbrella and parasol may be considered as different words for the same thing.  
_

_4) I know that in the movie Ruth is never shown as having her own maid, and it's most probable she doesn't have one at all and settles for having Trudy tending to her as well. The only hint we get about the possibility of Ruth having her own maid is at the scene when the passengers are mustered, and Ruth directs both Trudy and another nameless woman back to her cabin to turn the heaters on and make her a cup of tea. Of course, that other woman may also have been a stewardess, which is impossible to tell for sure, mostly because both Trudy and that other woman are wearing coats over their uniforms, and so uniform comparison is not helpful toward determining whether that other woman is a personal maid or a stewardess. But regarding this story, I can only say that I took another liberty regarding the financial situation of the DeWitt Bukater women, and that as a result of it, I felt it would be appropriate enough for Ruth to have her own maid. There will be a deeper explanation of said change in the DeWitt Bukaters financial situation in a future chapter.  
_

_Thank you for reading this first list. Now, for those with doubts about historical points addressed in this story, this second list is for you._

_1) The real Henry Wilde, Wilde did start April 10th by gettting a sailing report done, and having it delivered to Captain Smith at 07.30 a.m. There was also a Board of Trade muster, which started at 08.00 a.m., and although I don't know how long it lasted, it is known that around sailing time Wilde and Lightoller were at the forecastle inspecting the crewmen tending to the hawsers and moorings - so it's possible that they were there for some time before, and also that they gave some looks at the hawsers and moorings themselves.  
_

_2) It is also known that Wilde did not like the Titanic, as he said on a letter he wrote to his sister on April 11th that he 'still didn't like the ship' which most likely meant the dislike came from before he actually became part of its crew. At the same time, he really wrote a letter to his nieces Norah and Edie (his sister's children) on April 7th, where he spoke rather highly of the Titanic - but it seems plausible that he only said so for not to have them worried, the same way it is possible that he wrote more letters to his family members before the Titanic actually left.  
_

_3) The real Henry Wilde was indeed meant to be captaining his own ship by late March/early April 1912, but the coal strike lead to that ship being laid up. I didn't manage to conclusively figure out whether the ship he would have captained, but my research revealed it was most likely to be the Cymric, although it is also possible that it was the Oceanic. In the end, I found the better decision was to have Wilde himself also being unsure about which ship he would have captained. On a similar matter, I had him preferring the Oceanic because that was the biggest ship, and most likely also the grandest ship out of the pair.  
_

_4) Regarding the figures and dates I mention about the coal strike, it really started on January 1912, and it really lead to the firing of 17,000 men of all the groups I mentioned. And of those, most of them did get evicted by their landlords. Or at least, that's what the research I made told me.  
_

_Well... this is only the first chapter (not counting the prologue) and yet I already have such a lengthy author's note. Boy, do I hope they don't get longer with every chapter I update...  
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_To anyone who may have had the bravery to plow through this until the end, thanks a lot for doing so. I sincerely appreciate it.  
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_Thanks a lot for reading both this chapter and these notes.  
_


	3. Chapter 2: An eerie incident

_Hello again, dear readers.  
_

_Thank you to all those who have been reading and reviewing this story so far. And for those of you who are reading but not reviewing, I sincerely hope you are enjoying it as much as possible.  
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_In this chapter, at long last, the Titanic will leave Southampton... or almost. You will see what I mean once you get to reading the chapter.  
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_Now, let us begin.  
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* * *

**Chapter 2 – An eerie incident**

_Aboard the RMS Titanic, on the port side of the First Class area of the Boat Deck, 11.55 a.m._

As the time slated for the _Titanic_'s departure drew ever closer, the crowds gathering on its port side grew ever bigger, as all over the third class decks people waved with a mix of joy and regret at relatives they were leaving behind, shouting words of farewell that got mixed into a single ubiquitous call. The waves and words of farewell were also present on the second class decks, but to a lesser degree, as the passengers who gave them were overall more certain about their eventual return. Only the first class decks seemed to be truly ruled by calm, in spite of the waves and occasional words of joy that also came from them. Not only was this sort of journey routinely for many of them, but every rule on the code of society dictated that first class passengers had to display elegance and decorum under every circumstance.

Grasping the bottom pole of her umbrella more firmly than would be advisable, Rose rolled her eyes from left to right at an almost dizzying speed, trying her best not to squirm in discomfort at being trapped – in a literal sense. Right in front of her, a steel bulwark reached a bit above her waist, so close to her that only a piece of paper could have been put between it and her. And behind her, there was a human barrier made by several other people who also wanted to witness the departure, but had gotten there after she did.

Cal, being as interested as he was in watching the ship leaving, and not needing to go to the Purser's Office to stow valuable possessions thanks to that hideous safe he carted everywhere, had managed to get himself, Rose, and her mother a spot right by the bulwark on the Boat Deck's port side, almost at the center of the ship. And he had also managed to effectively trap Rose, as both he and Ruth were standing so close behind her that there was less than an inch of space separating them from her. Even though they weren't touching, the closeness was uncomfortable enough for Rose to feel her lungs being compressed, and her heartbeat quickening, which added to the restrictiveness of her corset, made her feel sick.

So much so that by now, regardless of the strange feeling she'd gotten about the _Titanic _when she had been about to set her foot on the gangway, Rose wished the ship would leave as quickly as possible. At least she would have more room to breathe after that happened.

Unfortunately, she had no idea when that would be. Time seemed to creep by more slowly than a snail, and she had no watch to check it. Not by her own choice, as she had bought several ones before, but her mother had always said it was too easy to succumb to the temptation of checking the time when wearing such a thing, which was not proper from a lady. And Cal said that even though ladies' watches were commissioned as pieces of jewelry, they were hideous looking, and therefore unfit for his fiancée to wear. Between the two of them, they had always found ways of causing every watch Rose had owned to vanish, and eventually, she had known when to stop wasting money on them.

And now, that attempt had led to her standing straight like a spindle, mentally willing the time of departure to arrive as soon as possible, in spite of knowing the voyage that awaited her would be less than pleasant.

Not that her mother or Cal seemed to have the same opinion, as both of them seemed to be enjoying themselves even before the voyage began. To her right, her mother seemed utterly delighted in talking to three elegantly dressed women – two of them in their early thirties, the other in her fifties – and a dapper gentleman who seemed to be in his sixties. The most elegantly dressed woman had introduced herself as Mrs. Lucy Noël Martha Leslie, before adding that she was the Countess of Rothes as an afterthought. From then on, she had immediately gotten the bulk of Ruth's attention, while the other woman the Countess' age and the older couple were not as included into the conversation by far, in spite of having introduced themselves as the Countess' cousin and parents respectively. And Rose could already see that in spite of her polite behavior, the Countess wasn't exactly thrilled about that.

And to her left, Cal talked to Colonel Archibald Gracie IV, a stocky, middle-aged gentleman with dark-brown hair and a slightly pudgy belly, who was no more than a casual acquaintance for Rose, but had been deemed close enough by Cal and Ruth to be among those who had been sent an invitation for both the engagement gala that would be held in Cal's mansion at Pittsburgh and for the wedding.

She had no idea of what either pair around her was talking about. At first she had tried to pay as much attention as she could to both conversations, the way her mother and Cal always wanted her to, but as time had gone on and she hadn't been spoken to a single time, Rose had ended up letting her mind wander to random thoughts, while hoping in the back of her mind that neither her mother nor Cal would care about her presence until the ship left port, at the very least.

"Isn't that so, sweet pea?"

Hearing Cal's question, Rose straightened up suddenly, feeling the endless blur in front of her crashing to a halt, as unease started building up inside her, and her ribcage protested at her corset's constricts. Cal would not be happy if he realized she'd barely heard a word of his conversation to the Colonel. Although he hardly addressed her during conversations he had with the guests of all the events which she was required to attend with him as his fiancée, he always expected her to be listening to every word of each conversation he had with his guests. And he tended to get upset whenever he realized she didn't do so.

"What were you saying, Cal?" Rose asked, finding it wiser not to actually say that she hadn't been listening.

Even before she finished speaking, Rose could feel the volume and speed of her mother's chatter swaying for a moment – but thankfully, she seemed to be eager enough to talk to the Countess for not to give her daughter any other hint of disapproval.

Cal rolled his eyes in annoyance, and then spoke as if he was repeating some explanation he'd given hundreds of times before, "I was telling Colonel Gracie here that both of us are very much looking forward for our journey on this wonderful vessel to begin."

He leaned almost imperceptibly toward her, and again asked, "Isn't that so?"

Knowing the answer he wanted her to give, Rose replied in a non-emotional, but also non-hesitant tone, "Yes, that is absolutely right."

At least that was something she could tell without lying, even if the reasons behind that weren't most certainly the ones Cal expected.

The corners of Cal's mouth stretched for a few moments in a sneer, and he leaned even closer to her as if he was going to say something else. But at that moment, Colonel Gracie replied jovially, "Well, that makes three of us then."

Apparently finding it better not to leave a conversation hanging, Cal simply took the care to let a look of warning linger on Rose, and then turned back to Colonel Gracie in order to carry on talking to him. Taking the deepest breath she could with a corset on and in such a tight space, Rose mentally forced herself to resume paying attention to Cal's conversation with Colonel Gracie, at the very least.

However, even before Cal could start talking, the attention of everyone on deck was caught by a particular event. Out of nowhere, the ship's whistle gave a series of short, sharp blasts.

Rose inwardly sighed in relief. She knew that was the sign for those who were on this ship for any reason that wasn't to travel on it to go ashore.

"Well, what would you know?" Colonel Gracie remarked in amazement. "Ten seconds after we start talking about the voyage, we get told it's about to start."

"Maybe we should have started talking about it sooner, then," Cal replied in a congenial tone that easily allowed Rose to picture the smile he must have had on his face when he said that.

"Yes, maybe you should," Rose couldn't help but to mutter. The moment after doing so, however, Rose took her hand to her mouth, fearful of her slip-up's results. Even though she had spoken low enough for the words not to be discernible, her mumble had most certainly been audible.

Thankfully, Cal appeared not to have noticed it, as he was again talking to Colonel Gracie. Her mother, however, took the care to conspicuously but sharply nudge her with the back of her hand.

But Rose paid it no mind, and instead tried to watch as much of the activity that went on around her as she could.

To say the least, the amount of it was considerable. With imminent departure announced, the waves and words of farewell coming from the open decks belonging to the steerage passengers became both more numerous and intense, as well as those coming from the second class areas – albeit to a lesser extent. News reporters and people who certainly were either relatives or friends of passengers scurried down the gangways, eager to not be caught on the ship without a ticket, while men on the dock stood by the moorings, ready to start removing them when the time to do that came.

Then, after a sizable amount of time had passed without people walking down any gangway, workers on the dock started to remove them.

Upon seeing that, Rose's eyes widened, and her heart skipped a few beats. She couldn't help but view the removal of those gangways as a physical manifestation of the fact that now, she would truly have to travel on the _Titanic_ until it reached its destination, with no possibility of things going any other way. Not that she had ever believed it would be possible to simply walk out of the _Titanic_ at her will and expect no one said or did anything about it… but somehow, to have knowledge of that confirmed still seemed to jab more deeply at her than the mere knowledge by itself.

As if to remind her of that fact, her corset tightened around her for a moment like a fist being clenched, before loosening to its normal, but still tight grip. At the same time, a sardonic voice in the back of her mind asked why she couldn't just make up her mind about when she wanted the departure to take place.

"What is that going on over there?" Rose suddenly heard the Countess's mother asking.

Momentarily distracted from her thoughts by this one question that somehow got through chatter she hadn't cared to listen to, Rose glanced to the side, and sure enough, her mother, as well as the Countess and all her three relatives, were looking down on the same direction.

Following their line of sight, Rose saw that there was one gangway which still had to be drawn, and half a dozen men with bundles on their shoulders – most likely stokers, judging from their looks – were right by it, leaning forward as if they intended to rush into the ship before the gangway's ship end got too distant from the vessel. However, the officer supervising the gangway's removal was not allowing them to board.

Although the stokers were too far for Rose to see their lips, she could tell from the men's stances that each was talking so fast that it would be hard to discern a single word, in their obvious eagerness to join the crew. Still, the officer was unshakable. After a few calm attempts at turning down the stokers' pleas, he said something else in a stern tone, judging from his overall posture.

The stokers' shoulders slumped so much in disappointment and sadness that Rose feared for a moment the bundles they were carrying would actually bring them down. Fortunately, that did not happen – but regrettably to the stokers, their collective grievance did nothing to change the officer's mind, and in the following moments, the gangway was withdrawn, and its corresponding door was closed.

"Tough luck," Colonel Gracie remarked with a sigh of pity as the group of stokers by now gestured furiously at the closed gangway in a way that suggested they were shouting very ugly words.

"Poor chaps," the Countess's father said in a sympathetic tone. "Whoever looked at them would think they've lost a close relative."

Rose couldn't help but to agree with the gentleman. After the initial moments they had spent gesturing furiously and shouting out their anger, the stokers had collapsed in hopelessness, and some of them had put their hands on their heads, and were possibly mumbling in hopelessness about what they were going to do now that they had missed this job.

If what Rose had read on the newspapers about the large amounts of unemployed stokers was true, then they would certainly have a hard time ahead of them.

But then, any thoughts about the group of unfortunate men were cut off, as the ship's whistle made itself heard again. This time, however, it only emitted a single, large, deep-throated blast, after which the workers on shore cast off the moorings. As that happened, Cal drew his pocket watch and looked at it.

"What would you know?" she heard him muttering in a genuinely amazed tone. "They weren't kidding about British punctuality after all."

Ignoring Cal's comment, Rose watched the moorings being pulled aboard the ship. The going was slower than what she had seen on her other shipboard travels, but considering the length and thickness of the ropes, Rose actually found they were working quite quickly. Then, a heartbeat after the last mooring had been reeled in, the ship started creeping toward its starboard side, causing the gap between it and the berth to slowly increase, and a cheer to erupt from the passengers and the crowd on the dock alike.

Strangely enough, there was very little of an uproar in any other manner. No noise from other ship's whistles, no fanfare from any music band that had remained concealed until now - nothing that suggested the biggest ship ever made was starting its maiden voyage. Not that Rose had particularly wanted it, but she had been expecting it, considering the general excitement about the _Titanic_.

But all in all, she somehow felt this rather discreet departure was more appropriate. Besides, the lack of the things she'd thought about made no impact on the fact they were still underway.

And Rose, now divided between her eagerness to have room to breathe and the dread she felt regarding the rest of the voyage, found herself at a loss at to which of those sides was more promiment in her.

* * *

_At the Titanic's forecastle…_

As he momentarily diverted his eyes from the crewmen still dealing with the moorings to the widening gap between the ship's port side and the dock, Henry Wilde felt the same unease that had plagued him far too often as far as the _Titanic_ was concerned crawling its way up his being. Somehow, in spite of having known that his stay on this ship had been inevitable for almost a day now, this further confirmation of that fact caused something to squirm inside him and a sour taste of dread to fill his mouth.

But then, as if such a thing was a natural human behavior, Wilde ignored both those things, and turned his attention to the hawsers connected to the tugboats that would pull the ship's bow. He'd been assigned to inspect them, and he would be damned if he let Lightoller do the job on his own. Not because Lightoller was incompetent per se – in spite of his dislike for the man, Wilde begrudgingly and inwardly admitted he was a good officer – but because the task had been assigned to him primarily, and there was no way he'd let Lightoller convince himself it was the other way around, even for an instant.

After a few moments, the _Titanic_ stopped moving to the side, and then, thanks to the keen sensibility he had developed over his twenty-two years at sea, Wilde felt the deck starting to vibrate slightly underneath his feet, as the ship's engines started working. Then, the tugboats towing at her stern cast off their hawsers – which Wilde couldn't see, but knew was happening – and the ship started creeping its way forward.

Slowly but steadily, the _Titanic _neared the turn to southeast, into the River Test, and then, still aided by the tugboats at its bow, turned port. Then, once that turn was finally finished, Wilde ordered the crewmen stationed at the hawsers to cast them off, so the tugboats could reel them in.

After he and Lightoller looked over the ship's bow to make sure no mishap had occurred during the casting off of the moorings – and thankfully, had confirmation of that fact – Wilde inwardly nodded to himself.

That was one tough part of the voyage that was over and done with.

"You know, Wilde, we are about to pass by the _Oceanic_," Lightoller informed out of nowhere.

Feeling a jab in his heart at the mention of the ship he could have been about to captain, Wilde narrowed his eyes, sure that whatever came next could not be good. At first he considered ignoring Lightoller's statement or commanding him to shut up, but he'd gotten puzzled enough, and he would be damned if he let Lightoller get the impression he was afraid of a mere comment.

"What is that supposed to mean?" he asked in the most indifferent tone he could muster.

"Let me just say that if you are as eager to captain her as I heard you were, you are more than welcome to jump overboard and seize your chance," the Second Officer remarked, the annoying smirk on his lips driving the statement into Wilde's heart like a dagger. "You'd be doing everyone on this ship a big favor."

Wilde's first impulse was to pull Lightoller by the collar and stare him in the eyes so hard that Lightoller would die if looks could kill. But as he started inching forward, he held himself back, and simply clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white, while somehow managing to keep a calm expression.

"Or I can just lift you by that gangly neck of yours and drop you in the drink," Wilde remarked, deciding to ignore the fact Lightoller had hugely disrespected him as a superior, not to mention thrown salt into a rather painful wound. "That way I'd be doing everyone on this ship an even bigger favor."

A hint of anger flaring in his eyes, Lightoller opened his mouth as if to throw another remark, but any words from him were suddenly cut off.

Out of nowhere, reports like those of six gunshots fired in a quick series were heard. Wilde's head instantly spun toward the sound – and to his surprise, there were a few lengths of rope floating in mid-air, looking as if they had been thrown into the sky.

Alarm rushing through him, Wilde rushed to the railing, closely followed by Lightoller. As he got there, the lengths of rope landed on the dock, and the crowd of people that had undoubtedly been keeping up with the ship stepped back. A few cries of fright were heard, and it seemed to Wilde that one of the pieces of rope had landed on a poor lady.

Hopefully, his eyes had deceived him.

Wondering where the ropes had come from, Wilde gave another look around – and in a few seconds, he saw something that caused his eyes to open wider.

Like Lightoller had said, they were just passing by the _Oceanic_. However, there had been a smaller vessel moored to her, and somehow, the _Titanic_'s wake had snapped the smaller ship's moorings, and was now drawing her stern in.

On instinct, Wilde made as if to turn around and rush to the telephone on the forecastle, but instants after starting the gesture, he second-guessed the thought and gave up on it. Those on the bridge were bound to have noticed what was going on as well, and interrupting any measures they were taking with a redundant phone call would be far from advisable.

So, he just locked his eyes on the incoming stern of the other ship, as his mind went back to September 20th 1911, off the Isle of Wight.

That had been the day of the nastiest-looking incident he had ever witnessed. The _Olympic_ had been going through the Solent, and her course had crossed that of the British warship _HMS Hawke_. Although both ships had tried to get around the other, the _Olympic_'s wake had sucked the _Hawke_ stove in into her starboard side. The warship's bow had penetrated a full eight feet into the large ocean liner, causing two of her watertight compartments to flood and her propeller shaft to bend. Overall, that collision had produced the nastiest damage Wilde had ever seen.

And now, the same seemed about to happen to the _Titanic_, even before her maiden voyage fully started.

"Come on, hurry up," Wilde muttered under his breath, as the other ship's stern kept drawing closer to the _Titanic_'s hull.

As if his plea had been heard, a crewman on the other ship suddenly caught a line. Following it with his eyes, Wilde saw it had been tossed by a tugboat, which had rushed to the other ship's stern. After the rope had been affixed, the tugboat started towing at the other vessel – but it did as well as a puppy would do in dragging an ox by the tail.

Mentally willing his quickening heartbeat to go slower, Wilde stepped away from the railing as quickly as possible. If he was there at the time of the crash, he would likely go overboard.

"Get away from the railing, all of you!" Wilde bellowed to all those in the forecastle, even as he kept stepping back himself.

A quick glance around let him see a number of crewmen obeying his order – and also let him notice that Lightoller was stepping back at exactly the same speed he did.

When he got far enough to be sure he would only fall belly first onto the deck during the collision, he stopped, and steeled himself to feel the whole ship rumble and shake underneath his feet.

But no such thing came. The only thing Wilde noticed was the vibration underneath his feet seemed to have shifted ever so slightly – to such a point that he wasn't even sure he was feeling it. Then, nothing else came. No thunderous noise of steel and wood splintering, no shake that threw everyone onto the deck… just the steady vibration of the _Titanic_'s engines under his feet.

"What the…" Wilde muttered, as he rushed back over to the railing to see what had happened. Surely the collision should have already taken place by now.

When he looked over the edge, Wilde noticed the other vessel's stern dangerously close to the _Titanic_'s – something like six or seven feet away – but the two vessels weren't touching. And the tugboat appeared to no longer be trying to draw the ship backwards, looking instead as if it was merely holding her in place, while a wash that appeared to have come from along the _Titanic_'s side finished dispelling.

Wilde's tensed expression melted into one of all the relief he could display without looking weak. Apparently, there would be no actual disaster during the _Titanic_'s departure after all.

* * *

_On the port side of the First Class area of the Boat Deck…_

Her eyes locked on the gap between the _Titanic_'s side and the other ship's stern, Rose let out a sigh of relief that was echoed by a good number of passengers around her, as the last remnants of a swell that had erupted from the _Titanic_'s wake vanished in the water.

That one had been far too close. If that wash the ship's engines had produced had been made just a few moments later, who knows what sort of disaster could have occurred. Not only would the _Titanic_'s passengers and the other ship's crewmembers have been thrown down, but that smaller ship's stern would have been completely destroyed, while horrid damage would have been made to the _Titanic_ itself, certainly causing all those in the breached compartments to be seriously injured, to be squashed, or even to drown.

Rose shuddered at the thought. That definitely would have been a terrible start for the voyage for all those involved.

As the shiver faded away, Rose forced herself to take the deepest breath she could. Her corset made it far less deep than she would have desired it to be, but it was still enough to make her mind clearer. After all, in spite of everything, things were alright. The other ship's stern was quite close to the _Titanic_, but the tugboat kept holding it firmly, preventing it from drawing closer. Also, the _Titanic_'s engines were now stopped, which certainly meant nothing else of the like would take place anytime soon. All in all, the worst thing anyone here had gone through had been the scare.

And some appeared to not even have felt that. Glancing to her right, Rose saw that her mother looked shaken – genuinely so, for once – as well as the Countess's mother and cousin. But the Countess' father, as well as the Countess herself, looked quite calm. And a good number of passengers that Rose could see to her right also appeared to not have been all that disturbed by the near-collision. Perhaps it was because they had been sure it would be stopped. Or maybe they were relying too much on how nothing serious would happen. After all, no one had been seriously injured or killed when the _Olympic_ and the _Hawke_ had collided almost eight months ago, in spite of the unmistakable severity of the damage caused. Probably they were expecting the same thing to happen if the _Titanic_ and this other ship also had collided.

A frown made its way onto Rose's face at that thought. Again, she couldn't help but to think everyone was relying on man-made things far too much.

In an effort to think about something less dreadful, Rose adjusted her position, trying to shift her umbrella to her other hand as she did so. But then, she realized that she was no longer holding it. Dread coming over her, Rose looked down – and sure enough, the umbrella was lying horizontally on the deck. She had certainly let go of it at some point while she'd been nervously watching the other ship's incoming stern.

Uttering a grunt in annoyance at her frail nerves – one which thankfully her mother didn't hear – Rose tried her best to crouch and pick up her umbrella. Unfortunately, her skirt ended up restraining her legs' skill to bend, and her corset kept her spine less flexible than an iron pole. All in all, she lowered herself only half of what was required to pick up her umbrella.

Hoping that a different position would enable her to do it, Rose straightened herself and tried to crouch in a different way, but she'd barely started when she was interrupted.

"Rose?" her mother asked, now not sounding anywhere near shaken by what she had been about to witness. "What are you doing?"

Rose narrowed her eyes at her mother, but then, she felt something creeping up her spine, which immediately made her think that Cal's attention was trained on her. It was the last thing she would have wanted, but there was no escape now.

"I was trying to pick up my umbrella," Rose said, not bothering to hide any self-reproach from her voice.

Although she wasn't looking at Cal, she could sense the grim coming across his face as he heard that.

"Why didn't you say so earlier, sweet pea?" Cal asked. "Here, I'll pick it up for you."

Before anyone could say anything, Cal bent down, picked up the purple umbrella, and handed it over to Rose, a smug look on his face.

If this had been the first time such a thing had happened, she could have been grateful, but she knew Cal well enough to know he just adored those moments when something that caused her to depend on him happened.

"Thank you," Rose spat as she took it from her hand, glaring at him with every fiber of her being.

Cal's smug look morphed into slight anger as he met her glare, and at the same time, her mother sharply nudged her back with her knuckles for the second time in a far too soon interval.

Leaning slightly toward her, he whispered, "Rose, must you really get so grumpy just because you dropped your umbrella?"

Looking him in the eye, Rose replied, in the calmest tone she could use, "If you really want to know, I must. And if you think a little, I'm sure you'll understand why."

His jaw clenching upon hearing her comment, Cal started to lean forward as if to hiss some warning in her ear, but then, the Countess' father, oblivious to the slight turmoil taking place close to him, chose that moment to ask, "Could you please tell me that other ship's name, my dear? I can't see it very well from here."

Although Rose heard the question, her mind hardly gave any thought to it, besides being grateful that it had been loud enough to distract Cal from leaning over her. However, the moment the Countess gave her reply, her eyes widened for a moment, and an edge of wariness crept into her. While that other ship's name was certainly no more than a coincidence, Rose instantly made up her mind that it wouldn't have been the same thing by far if the _Titanic_ had drawn in a vessel with some other name.

* * *

_On the port side of the Titanic's forecastle…_

In spite of his relief at the fact the _Titanic_ had not been hit by that smaller ship, Wilde kept a close eye on the other vessel. Although the tugboat – which he could now see was called the _Vulcan_ – kept the smaller ship's stern under control, her bow seemed to be slowly veering toward the _Oceanic_. And while there was a second tugboat rushing to secure it, it still was not certain whether it would get there on time.

Of course, Wilde himself could do little or nothing to prevent any eventual damage that either the _Oceanic _or the other ship would suffer, but he knew enough about how things worked to know that if something happened it would be all the better for him if he actually saw it. It had been just like that when the _Olympic _had collided with the _Hawke_. And although he could be required to make some sort of precautionary inspection, for the moment he just stayed where he was. After all, if those on the bridge needed him, they could make a phone call.

By Wilde's side, Lightoller also kept his eyes locked on the smaller ship, most likely because he thought the same thing. His expression was tinged with hints of nervousness, the way Wilde figured his own had to be.

For a moment, Wilde considered whether to voice some sort of jab at Lightoller's ego, using his apparent unsteadiness as basis, but he discarded the thought. Not only were things more than serious enough, but he wasn't going to stoop down to Lightoller's level the way the Second Officer had done with him just before that near-accident.

So, he kept watching the movement of that other ship's bow, while the second tugboat finally came alongside it and tossed its hawser to a member of that other ship's crew stationed there, which was promptly tied.

Then, as if he'd had a delayed reaction to listening to Wilde's thoughts, Lightoller flickered his eyes toward him, and then remarked, "Maybe you should sit down, Wilde. You seem quite shaken by what transpired."

Wilde started turning his head around toward Lightoller so he could counter the comment effectively, but then, at that very moment, the tugboat pulling at the small ship's bow towed it farther away from the _Oceanic_, which enabled Wilde to see that smaller ship's name.

And then, as if something had been jabbed at his heart, Wilde drew in a sharp breath, as, for the first time, he got a proper look at the other vessel's name.

_New York_

The sense of dread Wilde had felt countless times flared inside him – only this time, it was far stronger than it had ever been. He'd never been a superstitious seaman – and in fact, he had always thought that those who were so were, to say the least, somewhat foolish – but somehow, the fact that the _Titanic_ had nearly crashed with a ship that had the same name of her destination so soon after her maiden voyage started did not bode anything good for him. It could be a coincidence – and even now, Wilde recognized that it most likely was – but whether it was or not, this simply didn't seem like a good sign indeed.

Out of the corner of his eye, Wilde noticed Lightoller's smug grin at his rattled expression, but for some reason, before Lightoller actually voiced some sort of remark, he followed Wilde's line of sight, curious to see what could have shaken him like that. After a few moments, he turned his face to Wilde again, as the Chief Officer looked him in the eye as well. But this time, Lightoller's face held no smug grin, nor any of the ill-disguised contempt it was most commonly seen whenever he and Wilde looked at each other. Neither of them said a word, but at least Wilde had no problem realizing that for once, he and Lightoller were in absolute agreement.

But somehow, that realization only served to strengthen everything eerie about the whole event.

* * *

_So, one more chapter comes to an end. I honestly hope you enjoyed it._

_I tried to write a good action scene when the near collision came about, and I can only say that I hope I did a good job. I look forward to hearing your thoughts on it.  
_

_Now, my usual explanations regarding the historical points of this chapter for the most interested readers. According to real-life characters, the Countess of Rothes (whose full name was the one I gave) was indeed travelling with her parents and her cousin when she boarded at Southampton. However, her parents left the Titanic earlier on, and only her cousin - as well as her maid, actually - stayed with her until the untimely end of the voyage.  
_

_And about Colonel Gracie, I know the description I gave of him doesn't match what he looks likein the movie, but as this is an AU, and he is a minor character, I was convinced it would be better to picture the real man's looks - no disrespect meant to Bernard Fox's portrayal of the character.  
_

_Now... about the historical aspects of the Titanic's departure - according to my investigations, the Titanic's whistle did give a series of short, sharp blasts for those who weren't travelling to go ashore, and also let out a large, deep-throated blast (to quote author Daniel Allen Butler) when the ship left. As for the group of stokers prevented from boarding by an officer (Sixth Officer James Moody in case you're interested), I found sources referring to them as the Slade brothers (they were three) and others that referred to the group as having half a dozen members. In the end, I went with the latter figure.  
_

_Also, there was really a lack of cheering from other ships as the Titanic left her berth, according to school-teacher Lawrence Beesley's book about the disaster.  
_

_Now, about the big event which is really the center of this chapter... for those of you who don't know, in real life the Titanic's wake really caused another ship to snap its moorings and be drawn in to the point collision seemed imminent. And that ship was really called the New York (formerly City of New York, having changed its name after being transferred from the Inman line to the American line). Legend has it that there were passengers who saw this as a bad omen and left the Titanic on her next two stops. _

_About the six feet between the New York's stern and the Titanic's hull, however, this is a bit of creative license. I saw sources that stated there were only four feet between the two ships by the time the collision was averted, and others stating that there were ten feet. In the end, I felt ii was a permissible compromise to have the estimate I present being something in-between.  
_

_I hope I'm not giving the impression I'm throwing my knowledge in everyone's faces with these long notes. I am simply trying to indicate the basis of certain things I include and which I feel readers may find doubtful.  
_

_And again, I hope you enjoyed the chapter.  
_


	4. Chapter 3: The first meeting

_Hello to all of you, dear readers. I sincerely hope all of you have been enjoying the story so far.  
_

_I also hope you enjoy this following chapter, mainly because it will have a very defining moment in the story, and one which has already been asked for in a few reviews. I can only say I hope not to disappoint.  
_

_Now that this bit is over, let us begin.  
_

* * *

**Chapter 3 – The first meeting  
**

_On board the RMS Titanic, in Caledon Hockley's Millionaire Suite on B Deck, April 10__th__, 1912, 01.35 p.m._

Much to everyone's relief, the near-collision with the _New York_ had done little more than unsteadying the nerves of some people, crewmen, passengers, and departure spectators alike. Although there was a considerable delay in the _Titanic_'s departure, in order to allow for the _New York_ to be brought under full control and for the _Titanic_ to be inspected for damage, the Ship of Dreams had eventually left Southampton without any other incident taking place, and was currently sailing steadily toward Cherbourg, where more passengers and cargo would be taken.

Now, quite a long time after the ship's departure by her estimates, Rose stood in her suite's bedroom, as Trudy helped her into the outfit her mother had selected for her to wear to lunch.

The outfit consisted of a pale-golden underdress, with an overdress with white and dark-blue stripes, both tied to her waist with a dark-blue sash, and with high heeled shoes that matched the sash. It looked lovely indeed, and thankfully, it had been no harder to get into it than it would have been on solid ground, as although the ship's vibration could be sensed, it wasn't enough to throw anything off-balance. But Rose could already feel herself growing wary just from having it on. The mere fact it had been selected by her mother was enough to tell her they were going to have lunch with some new acquaintance she had made, and her mother wanted Rose to cause a good impression – at least, as much of a good impression as a twenty-six years old woman who wasn't married yet could cause. Considering that the only acquaintance her mother had made on this ship so far was the Countess of Rothes, it could only mean that her efforts for everyone to cause a good impression would be redoubled. And considering Cal would certainly have the same agenda in mind, Rose was already picturing the way she would have to act: as a lovely, well-behaved woman who was hopelessly in love with him and was eager for their wedding to come.

Not that she had to act any differently under normal circumstances, but considering they were actually going to have a meal with a new acquaintance as distinguished as the Countess appeared to be, she already knew she would have to do all those things to an extreme – just like she already knew what would happen to her if she made the tiniest mistake.

"I'm finished with the dress, Miss Rose," Trudy said, as she finished smoothing down the left sleeve of her dress, as if to reflect her mistress's thoughts about lack of imperfections.

"Thank you, Trudy," Rose said in a sincere tone, before she went over to the vanity table in her bedroom and grabbed the hat that was resting on it.

It was literally the only part of her outfit that she could put on without any help, but it was also the one she disliked having to wear the most. The hat was dark-blue like the dress' stripes, but it had so many white roses around its crown that it looked more like a giant shrub than anything else. It also had a pale-blue ribbon meant to be tied under the wearer's chin, although it was more for decoration than to prevent the wind from sweeping it away.

Rose didn't really like wearing hats at all, but the rule when it came to them was: the more ostentatious the hat, the least she liked to wear it. And this one was more extravagant than just about every hat Rose could remember having worn. Wearing it already made her even more nervous than wearing the dress, as well as it made her dread the lunch with the Countess to new extremes.

But she knew better than to complain. It would do no more than leaving Cal and her mother unsatisfied, and both were hard enough to deal with when they were happy.

Giving a look at her reflection in the mirror, Rose decided she looked well enough to fit the standard her mother and Cal had set, and then walked out of her bedroom into the sitting room.

Not to her surprise, Cal was already there, standing by the door, dressed in a blue suit that was obviously new, while Lovejoy stood by the door, still wearing the dark-grey suit he'd worn at the dock. Cal gave her an approving nod when he saw her getting in, but that was the only acknowledgment he made regarding her appearance. She noticed Lovejoy at the corner of the room, wearing the same dark-grey suit he'd worn on the dock, and looking slightly more somber than he usually did.

However, her mother still wasn't there.

Rose tried to give no sign that she'd noticed it, but either way, she was puzzled as to why that was so. In spite of the common belief that women always took longer to dress than men, her mother was always the first getting ready whenever they changed outfits to go to new events. Not only because she chose the outfit she was going to wear with remarkable speed, but also because she favored getting dressed quickly, which lead to poor Alice working around the clock to help Ruth into her clothes. So, if her mother wasn't here yet, something must have held her up.

And that only made her more uneasy.

Pessimistic as the thought could be, she just had the feeling that whatever had held her mother up was not good. And her feelings weren't usually wrong.

Unfortunately, her thoughts got conveyed through her face, which went from the expressionlessness she usually tried to keep into a frown. And that immediately went noticed by Cal.

"Rose, smile, for goodness' sake," he said in an exasperated tone. "We're going to have lunch with a Countess; I don't want you looking like you're waiting your turn on the guillotine."

Hearing Cal's comment, Rose cast aside the thought of how much she dreaded the incoming lunch, and said, "You're not smiling either."

"I didn't say I'm smiling," Cal replied, not bothering to hide his scowl. "I told you to smile."

Continuing her attempt at not submitting without a fight, Rose added, "But Cal, don't you think that if you go to lunch with that look on your face, you'll cause just as much of a bad impression?"

Cal's fists clenched upon hearing that, and he immediately strode over toward her. Rose's first instinct was to step back, but, remembering her decision to stand her ground, she stayed where she was, even as Cal finished closing the gap between them and lowered to look her in the eye, his forehead nearly touching the brim of her hat. For once, Rose felt grateful she had such a large hat on.

"Just so you know, I would be smiling if I didn't have to wait forever for you and your mother to get dressed," he hissed at her.

"Well, I'm already dressed now," Rose replied. "And don't ask me why my mother isn't. You know as well as I do that she's always the one who finishes getting ready first on these occasions."

This time, Cal said nothing. He simply straightened up and gave a few steps back, as if he didn't want to be near Rose while he didn't think of a good enough manner to carry on the conversation.

Meanwhile, Rose took the most silent deep breath she could manage, in an effort to remove the dread inside her. However, it only decreased slightly, and although the second deep breath she took managed to force it slightly farther down than the first, by the third deep breath her dread appeared to have reached the minimum level she could keep it at.

Such thoughts were destructive, and she knew it, but there was little point in not knowing the truth. Chances were Cal and her mother would find more than one thing in her stance or behavior to disapprove of during lunch. And even if they didn't, they were bound to turn Cal and Rose's impending wedding into the main topic of conversation, or at best to engage in a sort of conversation that Rose would never want to take part in. Hopefully, the Countess and her relatives would have enough things to talk about themselves, and wouldn't enable Ruth and Cal to take control of the conversation. And if she was lucky, maybe they would even talk about something more interesting than floral arrangements or the latest gossip in society.

Feeling a tad bit encouraged by that thought, Rose took another deep breath, in a last attempt to force her dread down a tiny bit further. But even before she had finished taking it, the door to her mother's bedroom opened, and Ruth DeWitt Bukater herself came out, wearing one of her typical dresses with lacy edges, a high collar, and a shape that made it fit to be worn only by women who had been waist-trained.

But Rose immediately noticed one detail: her mother was holding an envelope. And Rose could tell just by looking that there was more than one leaf of paper inside it. That meant her mother had taken so long to exit her bedroom because she had been doing more than getting dressed. But what could she have to write about so soon after the voyage started? And just who was this letter for?

Not looking like she wanted to give any explanations, Ruth walked over to Lovejoy, the usual elegance of her walk appearing to have some firm purpose added to it.

"Mr. Lovejoy, get this letter delivered to whoever was piloting the ship during the departure," she said, her usual emotionless and carefully-controlled tone tinged with a few strong notes of command.

Rather than grabbing the letter and turning around to obey the order, like he always did whenever it was Cal giving him instructions, Lovejoy just stared at the letter, and although his grim look stayed undisturbed, it was more than obvious the order had caught him as off guard as Rose herself.

"Mother, why are you writing the ship's pilot for?" she couldn't help but to ask.

As she turned her head to address Rose, her mother stated, "Is that not obvious?"

After a few moments of silence, her mother added, "I am writing him to tell him what I think of his clumsy piloting skills, and how I find it preposterous that he nearly caused such a disaster by drawing that other ship in."

Clenching her jaws as if to keep her chin from dropping, Rose blinked her eyes, wide from amazement, several times, utter bafflement soaring inside her.

"You can't be serious, mother," she finally managed. "Are you really writing the ship's pilot a letter just to berate him?"

"He can consider himself lucky that I am not thinking of filing a formal complaint to his boss," Ruth countered, her even but serious tone telling Rose her mother hadn't been kidding about that either. "A near-collision is no way to start the maiden voyage of a grand vessel like this one."

"Hear, hear," Cal immediately said, all his grumpiness from having to wait apparently snuffed out of him.

Hearing those words, Lovejoy turned to his boss, as if he simply wouldn't anything without a direct command from him. Feeling Lovejoy's look, Cal turned to look at him and said, "Well, you heard my future mother-in-law, Lovejoy. Get that letter delivered to the ship's pilot. And make it snappy."

A slight grimace made its way onto Lovejoy's face upon hearing the command, but it was so small and so brief in duration that Rose was sure nobody but her had noticed it. Then, he at last took the letter from Ruth's hand, pivoted on his heels and made for the door, his countenance looking slightly grimmer than usual.

A sudden thought coming to her, Rose strode forward, realizing she had found something that could keep her away from the dreaded lunch for a few more minutes.

"Mr. Lovejoy, wait!" she called as she reached out to him. "I'll get that letter delivered."

His hand freezing just an inch off the door handle, Lovejoy turned around to look at Rose, puzzlement more than obvious in his features.

Rose kept her arm extended toward Lovejoy as if expecting him to give her the letter, but he merely stared at it. And meanwhile, her mother did not waste any time voicing her thoughts.

"Don't be absurd, Rose," she scolded. "I will not have you wandering into a room full of sailors. Besides, it will make you late for lunch with the Countess and her parents."

Her mother had spoken in a tone of finality, as if that was enough to put the matter out of the question, but Rose had known from the beginning that if she wanted a reprieve from lunch with the Countess and her family, no matter how temporary, she would have to make an effort to earn it.

"But mother, the ship's pilot is most likely to be on the bridge," Rose carried on. "And passengers aren't allowed at that place. If Mr. Lovejoy goes there, he's bound to be removed so fast he won't even realize what happened to him."

Rose knew she was making a bit of an exaggeration, but she also knew that passengers weren't usually allowed on a ship's bridge, and any such occurrences probably had to be arranged, if they existed at all.

"However, I am a woman, so if those sailors see me instead of Mr. Lovejoy, they are bound to be less brute in their approach, and probably will even let me explain what I am doing there," Rose carried on.

Her pale blue eyes hardening, Ruth opened her mouth for her next remark, but Cal anticipated himself.

"If those sailors see you instead of Lovejoy, they are bound to tear your clothes off and ravage you in such a manner there won't be anything left to put back together!" he said. "Don't you know sailors go on for weeks at sea without seeing a woman?"

Again, Rose's eyes widened. Surely Cal couldn't believe what he was saying, could he? What did he think this was? A trip aboard a caravel in the 16th century? This was a passenger ship, and certainly none of the officers would be here if he didn't have a bare minimum of good behavior toward women. Even her old-fashioned mother was smart enough to deduce such a thing – or so Rose figured from the way her mother was also looking at Cal with a look ranging somewhere between confusion and amazement.

But Rose had no problem realizing that Cal was at least somewhat afraid, although it was likely not for her well-being. If anything, it should be because he feared what would happen if Rose got a look at some man without him being in the vicinity.

But she wouldn't go down without a fight.

"Cal, this is a passenger ship belonging to the White Star Line, one of the most prestigious shipping companies in the world," Rose said in the most convincing tone she could muster. "None of the officers would be here if he didn't know how to behave toward women."

Her mother remained without replying – perhaps because of her eagerness to make sure the letter got to its destination, and of an eventual realization that it might be better if Rose were to take it after all. However, Cal still didn't seem to be convinced.

"Anyway, you'll take Lovejoy with you," Cal added. "I won't have my fiancée heading off to meet strange men on her own."

Ignoring the possessive notes in his voice when he said 'my fiancée', Rose said, "But having Mr. Lovejoy around will ruin my façade of distressed lady. And I will be much more likely to get this letter delivered if I assume that role."

"So now you know how to be charitable also to your mother and fiancé, instead of only to street beggars?" Cal mocked.

Rose's jaws clenched for a moment at that comment. Cal always knew how to voice his opinion on the fact Rose had any sort of feelings other than despise for the lower classes. However, her mother appeared not to be up to waiting any further to solve this issue.

"Very well, Rose," she said. "You will get this letter delivered to the ship's pilot. But make sure it reaches its intended recipient. And be quick. You can't be too late for lunch with the Countess and her parents."

The last sentence was spoken in such an emphatic tone that Rose couldn't help but to ask, "Why are you making such fuss about this lunch, mother? Surely we will have more opportunities to take meals with the Countess and her parents."

"No we won't," her mother said, not missing a beat. "The Countess's parents will be leaving at Cherbourg, which means we must make use of this one chance to get acquainted with them. So be quick in getting the letter delivered, do you understand me?"

Without giving Rose time to react in any form, Ruth added, "And take a coat; it's cold out there."

Rose knew her mother was likely right on that point, so she said nothing against it. Meanwhile, Ruth strode into Rose's bedroom, and came out moments afterwards, carrying a long fur coat in her hands. Rose's shoulders dropped when she realized just which one it was.

"Mother," she couldn't help but to say. "Does it really have to be the coat of sable fur? Can't it be a more modest one?"

"Of course not," Ruth replied as she strode over to Rose and put her into the coat. "Of all your coats, this is the one that conveys status the best, and although it's unlikely any officer will know what it means, you may run into one who does. So wearing it will do no harm, and it may even do some good – if not when you meet the officers, then when you come to lunch."

Rose did everything she could not to let out a sigh of hopelessness and despair upon hearing those words. As if she hadn't been bundled in enough luxury already…

But she knew she couldn't let herself lose her courage. No matter how she was dressed, this would still give her some extra time before she had to have lunch with the Countess. And Rose wouldn't waste that now.

Taking a gulp to steady her nerves, Rose at last took the letter from Lovejoy. To her surprise, there was a flicker of gratitude in the valet's eyes, and he gave her the tiniest and briefest of smiles as he passed the envelope to her. Then, he pressed the handle and pushed the door open, before stepping aside to allow her to go through.

"Remember Rose, don't take long," her mother said as Rose got out of the stateroom. "And also, the lunch will be at the _A la Carte_ restaurant, just to make sure you'll remember."

Rose gave a small nod in acknowledgement, and then started closing the door.

"And you'd better not be as much as touched by a single sailor, you hear me?" Cal added in a tone of warning mixed with fear.

Pretending she hadn't heard that statement, Rose slammed the door shut, and walked off toward the ship's bridge.

* * *

_On the Titanic's Boat Deck, 01.45 p.m._

Once in the corridors, Rose walked in the most firm and determined manner she could assume, and kept that walk for all the way along the corridor on B Deck, for the entire walk to the top of the Grand Staircase, and then until she walked out onto the port side of the Boat Deck. But as soon as she found herself outside, her determination to get the letter delivered had a considerable dampener placed on it by the cold wind that blew over the Boat Deck.

With her right hand adjusting the hat on the top of her head – thankfully, the ribbon tying it to her neck would prevent it from being swept away – Rose looked at the letter she held in her other hand, and tried to decide just what she was going to do now.

It had been far too easy to see this as a chance to temporarily avoid the dreaded lunch when she had been in her cabin, but now, out in the open, she was slowly realizing that not only she would have to meet quite a few men who would probably give her nothing but looks of irritation at having her intruding on their working place, but she would also put one of them through the unspeakable torture of reading her mother's extensive complaints about the incident with the _New York_ – assuming the ship's pilot would be polite enough to do it.

Besides, the truth of the matter was that she simply did not know how to interact with ship's officers, as even though she had traveled overseas several times before, she had never needed to interact with an officer a single time. And most officers probably would have little idea of how to behave toward her either. Even if they wouldn't be on this ship without a minimum of social skills, officers were never expected to interact with passengers. She knew that Captain E.J. Smith was an exception to the rule, if the nickname she had heard for him – the Captain of the Millionaires – was anything to go by, but that probably did not apply to the other officers. But at the same time, she couldn't help but to think it would be better to take things up with one of the other officers than with Captain Smith himself. After all, the Captain had certainly been in command during the departure, and would probably feel the criticisms were partly directed at him. So, she really had to talk with one of the other officers.

Rose gave another look at the thick envelope, and again, cringed at the volume of complaints she guessed were inside it. Considering the rather small size of her mother's handwriting, the leaves of paper inside it were probably much more filled than if they had been written by the average person. And that made her feel even sorrier for the pilot, assuming he would have the fortitude to read that letter to the very end.

But Rose knew her mother and Cal were likely to investigate whether the letter had been delivered or not, so she would better get this over with. Besides, she didn't think it was likely the pilot would actually read the letter to the very end. After all, as much as she wanted to make some people believe it, Ruth DeWitt Bukater was not the queen of the world.

After taking a deep breath to fortify herself, Rose turned right, and started walking toward a barrier on the ship's deck that separated the first class area of the Boat Deck from what she guessed was the crew's area. When she got there, she saw she had been close enough, as the gate on the barrier had a sign with 'Officers' Promenade Deck' on it. If she went all the way forward, she was bound to get to the ship's bridge.

But it seemed she wouldn't have to do that, as there was a man who was certainly an officer standing only seventy feet away, peering through the space between two lifeboats in what seemed like silent contemplation.

Even from a distance, Rose could tell he looked just like an officer should: tall, burly, and cutting an imposing figure in his dark-blue uniform. He was the sort of man who looked ideal to bellow out orders and have them obeyed instantly. And although she wasn't close enough to discern the exact number of golden bands around his cuffs, she could tell he was a high-ranking officer – maybe even the Chief himself.

Apprehension started to grow inside her. She didn't want to imagine what a meeting with him would be like if his mannerisms were anything like what his look suggested. But, she reminded herself, at least she was only meeting one officer, and wouldn't have to set foot on the ship's bridge, if she managed to get to him before he went back in.

Taking another deep breath, Rose gave a look around, held the letter as firmly as she could without bending it, and, after she checked there was no one around to see what she was doing, she opened the gate and stepped through it, bent on getting the issue of the letter over and done with.

* * *

_On the port side of the Officers' Promenade Deck…_

As his greyish-blue eyes contemplated the grey sea through the gap between Boat 4 and the bulwark located by Emergency Boat 2, Henry Wilde exhaled contentment, enjoying the fresh wind blowing over him. For as long as he had been on the ocean, that had been among the things he enjoyed doing the most whenever he wasn't on duty. And although he hadn't been able to enjoy it until now, due to being busy with inspecting the _Titanic _for damage, then with personally making sure the ship got into the open sea without any near-catastrophes occurring, and then with reading a letter from his daughter Jennie - which he'd received only today – he now could finally enjoy a few moments alone, with the wind blowing over him, and the view of the sea in his face. That had always calmed him down, and although he wasn't anywhere near as uneasy as he had been before the voyage had started, he knew he would have to be on top condition before starting his first four-hour-long watch on the bridge – a watch that would have taken much longer to come if the _New York_ had tragically cancelled the _Titanic_'s maiden voyage.

At least, that was what most people would think of it. Now at sea, he couldn't help but wonder if a collision with the _New York_ would actually have been a tragedy. After all, there hadn't even been serious injuries when the _Hawke_ had rammed the _Olympic_, and although Wilde knew better than to simply expect the same thing would have happened on a second collision of the sort, he knew that if there hadn't been any serious injuries should the collision have occurred, he wouldn't have viewed it as anything resembling a tragedy.

At least, it would certainly pale in comparison to two tragedies he'd gone through, both of which had been so bad he couldn't even decide which one was worse.

The mere thought made Wilde clench his teeth, feeling as if an invisible hand had punched him.

_You fool!_ A voice chastised him in the back of his mind._ Did you have to think about them now, of all times? _

Wilde drove the voice away. He never wanted to think about _that_, but he ended up doing so far too frequently for his likes, and often stopped only when something distracted him.

"Excuse me, officer," a voice called, breaking him from his thoughts. "May I speak with you?"

His eyes opening more widely for a moment, Wilde turned toward the sound, and saw a woman wearing a coat of sable fur and a huge blue hat with a shrub of white roses heading toward him, a letter held in her hand.

His right eyebrow rose in suspicion, and an imperceptible frown made its way onto his face. He'd served on passenger ships long enough to know that first class passengers expected top treatment, and that whenever they felt they weren't getting it, they were quick to make it known. And this woman couldn't be anything besides a first class passenger, wrapped in luxurious attire as she was. And she very possibly belonged to the variety that would throw a tantrum over a tiny crack in a lamp, or give an hour-long lecture over a speck of dust on a chair. But passengers usually reported their complaints to the stewards, and this ship had plenty of them. What sort of business could this woman have that would require talking to an officer?

Whatever it was, he wanted to know for sure what sort of person he was dealing with. And he knew a good way to figure that out.

"You can't be here, miss," he said. "This is the Officers' Promenade Deck. Please go back to your part of the ship."

The woman was right in front of him by now, and Wilde could see that the sheaf of papers inside the envelope she held was quite thick. Just how was it possible that she had discovered so many things to complain about in less than an hour of voyage?

"I won't be long," the lady assured. "I just need your help to settle a small issue. Once that's taken care of, I will be out of here."

Wilde couldn't help but to find her reaction a good sign – mostly because her politeness seemed genuine. He'd seen many people who used masks of politeness, but unless his instincts were wrong, this lady wasn't one of them. Every line of her expression seemed carefully controlled, as if she was afraid of conveying her emotions through it, and there were a few shadows of discomfort visible on her features, but her voice showed her feelings easily enough for Wilde to assume his guess was right.

In a gesture of education he now was reasonably sure the lady deserved, Wilde took off his cap and tucked it under his left arm, his black hair falling over his forehead without the cap to confine it.

"Very well, miss," he said. "How may I help you?"

This time, the lady seemed to hesitate, as if she was trying to overcome some nervousness. During the silence, she shuffled almost imperceptibly in her coat, as if her attire was constraining her and she wanted to rid it off. But eventually, she said in a forcefully firm, but polite tone, "If you could please either take me to the man piloting the ship during its departure, or tell him to come here, I would be very thankful."

Even as she spoke, Wilde noticed that the lady had literally forced herself to pronounce the last five words, as if her subconscious had wanted her to say the very opposite and she had been struggling against it.

"What do you need to talk with him for?" he asked in a calm tone, but unable to ignore the considerable puzzlement caused by her request. If anything, a lady asking for the ship's pilot was more unusual than her wanting to solve an issue with an officer. But then again, as he remembered, there had been a rather unusual problem at the beginning of this voyage which had involved the pilot.

"My mother asked me to give him this letter," she said in a slightly uneasy tone. This time, she let her mask slip for more than long enough for Wilde to see her expression matched by her voice.

"I see," he said, with a nod of acknowledgment.

"Then could you please tell him to come here? Or take me to him?" the lady asked, a note of impatience mixed with fear in her voice, as if she just wanted to get this issue sorted out as quickly as possible, and run away as soon as she was done.

Now finally accepting the feelings she conveyed as genuine, Wilde said, "I'm sorry, miss, but I can't do either of those things. The man your mother wrote that letter for – Mr. George Bowyer – has recently left the _Titanic_."

Her eyes widened upon those words, and this time, her expression actually twisted into a puzzled one.

"Pardon me?" she repeated, as if she wouldn't believe that information unless it was repeated.

"Do you remember a brief stop we made not long ago?" Wilde provided. "We were stopping alongside a lightship, which took Mr. Bowyer off. It must be at least halfway to the Isle of Wight by now."

He extended his right arm and pointed with his index finger toward the ship's stern, where the landmass could be seen. He hoped the lady wouldn't be too angry at learning that, but then, he noticed she wasn't looking at the tip of his finger. Instead, her features melted into pure relief, which actually caused a smile to burst forth through her lips.

And for the first time, as if out of nowhere, Wilde thought she was beautiful.

He'd never been the sort of man who would stare at women, but he admitted that this lady, when she wasn't wearing her carefully-placed mask, looked lovely in the same way a rainbow or a sunset at sea were pleasant to the eye.

Then, as if she feared she had made a mistake by showing emotions so openly, she quickly put her expression back together.

"Well, if the man who piloted the ship during the departure isn't aboard anymore, then I have nothing else to do here," she said, sounding as if she was talking both to herself and to him. "Thank you for your time, officer."

Were it not for her discomfort, Wilde would have been downright puzzled at such a sudden dismissal of the issue, but as it stood, he found himself to have very little problems accepting it.

"You're welcome, miss," he said in a serious, professional tone.

He expected the lady to immediately turn around and walk away after hearing those words. But instead, the lady took her time to leave – and actually gave him a rather long look, as if she was trying to 'please her eyes' with the sight of him. Wilde thought little of it, though. Modesty aside, she wasn't the first lady who had taken the time to enjoy his handsome looks dressed in the Chief Officer's uniform, and there had been enough doing so for him to have learned to not be affected by it – although at the moment he couldn't remember any lady who had gotten such a close look at him.

Then, the lady turned around, and started walking back toward the gate – but after taking less than ten steps, she turned around and gave him a second look. This time, Wilde held her gaze for a few moments, and then looked away into the sea, in order to silently convey it was time for her to leave.

He couldn't tell whether she was actually leaving, as the wind blowing in his ears muffled the sound of her shoes against the wooden deck – but moments afterwards, he heard the sound of paper being ripped cutting through the air. Looking to his left, he saw the lady had stopped by the gap between Boat 4 and Boat 6, and was tearing what looked like several sheets of paper, her gestures shouting vengeance and purpose. After she was done, she forcefully threw them overboard through the space between those two boats, and then started ripping paper again, before throwing the tatters of the envelope into the wind as well, with even more purpose, if anything.

_What an unusual woman._ Wilde couldn't help but to think, as she resumed her walk toward the gate, now at what seemed to be a more brisk pace than the one she had assumed before.

Indeed, unusual was the minimum word. He doubted many first class ladies would tear paper so energetically, or be relieved at not being able to present complaints, or look so downright uncomfortable about being dressed in such copiously luxurious attire. But somehow, he found none of those things bad. He had glimpsed genuine feelings from her during their conversation, and the stark truth was that he found them all to be of the good sort.

Wilde felt as if an invisible hand had clobbered his head. Where had that come from? He really shouldn't be thinking about this lady, and why he had allowed himself to do so, even for a moment, was beyond him. A man in his condition had no business dwelling on thoughts about strange women. What he should be thinking about was his next watch on the bridge.

Remembering that it had to be starting soon, Wilde drew his pocket-watch out, and checked the time. There were still a few minutes to go until his watch officially started, but it was always better to arrive at the bridge a few moments before, in order to have enough time to get acquainted with how things had gone on the previous watch.

Slipping his watch back into his pocket, Wilde turned around and headed to the bridge, determined to keep all thoughts about the unusual lady out of his mind. After all, he most certainly wouldn't see her again.

* * *

_Close to the First-Class entrance on the port side of the Titanic's Boat Deck…_

With the door to the Grand Staircase less than three feet to her left, Rose let out a long sigh of relief, striving to compose her facial expression before heading toward the _A la Carte_ restaurant. After all, it wouldn't do for her to look anything but dignified, and she had already violated that rule to a big enough extent when talking to the Chief Officer – as the number of gold bands on his cuffs had revealed him to be once she got close enough. And she knew he had noticed. No matter how much she had tried to act proper, she knew he had noticed every subtle action of hers, even if he'd barely conveyed it. That made sense, as he probably wouldn't have gone far in his career without good observation skills, but it also had disturbed her knowing she was like an open book to him. After all, she tried to keep herself as closed as possible to just about everyone, and it was very rare for anyone to see through her façade. But the unusual circumstances had made her nervous enough, and coupled with the officer's observance, the effect had been even worse.

And as if that hadn't been enough, she had actually stared at him on two separate, if very close occasions. That had simply been a crass mistake, and there was no way to deny or avoid that fact. However, she had been unable to help herself in the heat of the moment. After all, his looks were, to say the least, very good.

Rose recalled several times during her teenage years, when two of her friends, Eleanor and Laura, both of whom had traveled overseas quite more frequently than she did, had sometimes gushed on and on about how striking a ship's officers looked dressed in their uniforms and appearing as if they were ready to stand at attention at a moment's notice. And now that she had seen a top-ranking officer more up-close than either Eleanor or Laura, she had to agree that was truth. At least, the _Titanic_'s Chief Officer looked not only imposing, but handsome. And he would look that way even if he had been wearing civilian clothes, as Rose found his rugged features, his black hair, his greyish-blue eyes, and his tall, muscular build to be very easy on her eyes.

And he had been kind. Granted, he had made it a point to bring out the fact she couldn't be there, but he hadn't made it a priority to get her removed, and had been willing to help her afterwards, even if he had seemed slightly uneasy about what she might want. Although it was impossible to get a full impression of a person after such a brief meeting, he had seemed like a good man. Even if appearances were deceiving, Rose had met enough people who put up façades to be fairly certain it hadn't been the case with this officer. And his kindness already made him better than a number of men Rose had run into over her life.

Had this been about ten years ago, Rose most certainly would have told Eleanor and Laura about how she had gotten to see an officer from much more up-close than either of them, and probably would have boasted a fair bit about it. But she was too old for that now, and besides, both Eleanor and Laura had been married for years by now. Neither had married an officer like they had dreamed of in some of their teenage girl fantasies, but thankfully, both were happily married, unlike what Rose knew she would be when she and Cal finally tied the knot.

But whether she would be happily married or not, she had to put up with him, at least until she finally gathered enough courage to escape and live her own life. And right now, that entailed meeting Cal and her mother so they'd all have the lunch the two of them had been so looking forward to.

With a sigh of resignation, Rose finally walked back inside the ship, and headed into the inside of the ship, hoping she was ready for the grand torture that the impending meal was announcing itself to be.

* * *

_So, yet another chapter which is over. I sincerely hope you enjoyed the first meeting of Rose and Wilde. I tried to make it as realistic and enjoyable as possible, but if any of you feels I failed, please do tell me, so that I can try to make the proper corrections._

_Now, onto any details readers might have to nitpick about. The afternoon dress I described is based off a picture I saw. I sincerely hope my description allowed you to picture it. As for the hat I described, it is based off the hat originally meant to go along with the dress Rose wears at the lunch scene, but with the colors changed, and with the ribbon tied under her chin added.  
_

_Also, the comments Rose makes about a ship's bridge are, from the research I made, true as well. Passengers wouldn't be welcomed on a ship's bridge under usual circumstances, although it's possible (I couldn't figure it out for sure) that special arrangements for a visit could be made. _

_And yes, in a follow-up to a point mentioned in the previous chapter's note, the Countess' parents got off the Titanic at Cherbourg, so they weren't around when the ship hit the iceberg - which was all the better for them, mainly for the Countess' father, as his chances of survival would have been rather small at best, even as a first class man.  
_

_Regarding the letter I mention Wilde having read, the real Henry Wilde wrote in a letter he sent to his eldest daughter from Queenstown that he had gotten her letter on the previous day. Also, as one last tidbit, his daughter's name was actually Jane. Jennie is the nickname Wilde gave her, as it is known from letters he sent to her.  
_

_As for him at first telling Rose that she was on the Officer's Promenade Deck, although it wasn't really meant as a prohibition by him, the Titanic's class segretation applied to passengers of all three classes - although it wasn't usually an issue with first class passengers as they would have very little reasons to leave their part of the ship.  
_

_And regarding George Bowyer, that was really the name of the Titanic's pilot when it left Southampton. I have read information saying both that he got off the ship at Cherbourg and that he got off by the Isle of Wight, on a lightship called Nab. I'm not sure if the Titanic would have reached the Isle of Wight by the time I depict, but considering the duration of the trip to Cherbourg and the distance the Titanic had to travel, I'm fairly sure it had. That issue is actually further complicated by the fact I'm not sure for how long the trip was delayed after the near collision with the New York. I found sources saying the Titanic was held up for as little as half an hour, and others which said it was delayed for as long as a whole hour. So, I settled for the compromise of not mentioning how long it was here, and simply mentioning here that this chapter was long enough for the Titanic to have dropped Bowyer off at the lightship that took him off, which was the Nab.  
_

_Lastly, Wilde's watches on the bridge (from what I know, officers didn't use the term 'shifts') were from 02.00 a.m. to 06.00 a.m., and from 02.00 p.m. to 06.00 p.m. I'm not sure if they became valid only after leaving Queenstown or if they applied whenever the ship was at sea, but I think it is valid to assume they applied whenever the ship was at sea.  
_

_So... once again, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and this note. Thank you for reading. I look forward to your reviews.  
_


	5. Chapter 4: Difficult relationships

_Hello once again to all of you, my dear readers. As usual, I hope you have been enjoying the story so far.  
_

_I apologize in advance for the considerable delay in getting this chapter out, but setting up a steady update schedule is something that has recently become slightly more difficult than it used to be.  
_

_Rambling aside, here is yet another chapter - and, as usual, I hope not to disappoint.  
_

_Now, onto the chapter itself...  
_

* * *

**Chapter 4 – Difficult relationships**

_In Caledon Hockley's Millionaire Suite on B Deck, April 10__th__, 1912, 03.20 p.m._

In spite of Rose's apprehension, lunch with the Countess and her family went by more smoothly than she had expected it to. Rather than flaunting the history of her family line or introducing some topic related to gossip, the Countess had mainly spoken about how she was travelling to join her husband, who planned to start an orange business in California, and how much she regretted the fact she'd had to leave her two sons under the care of their governess and maternal grandmother back home. She also had listened politely to Cal and Ruth when they spoke about their own purposes behind the trip, but thankfully she hadn't grasped onto them with the vivid eagerness so many of Ruth's and Cal's friends had displayed, and although she had appeared amazed at learning that Rose was twenty-six years old and unmarried, she had made no comments on the matter, nor had she revealed any form of disapproval or contempt. The Countess' parents had been fairly quiet, and what little they spoke about was related to the chalet in Normandy they were heading to, but they too had been quite pleasant, as well as the Countess's cousin – or rather, cousin-in-law – Gladys Cherry, who had been a veritable chatter box, very vocal about her enthusiasm regarding the journey and her stay at New York, in spite of the glances of discomfort she had sneaked at both Cal and Ruth on more than one occasion.

The food itself had been delicious, which was to be expected from a restaurant at such a grand ship, but Rose had carefully hidden her thoughts on the meal from her mother and fiancée. She would much rather face their reaction at her seeming dislike for the food than the one she guessed they would have if they as much as suspected she was enjoying it.

Overall, it had been much more enjoyable than Rose had imagined it would be, and she had left the _A la Carte _restaurant quite relieved at having known some people of her class who were not snobs. Even if they weren't exactly the first of that category she had met, people like them were too few and far between among her mother's and Cal's high-society acquaintances.

Rose's opinion, however, didn't appear to be shared by her mother and Cal, who appeared less than pleased by how the Countess and her travelling companions hadn't craved for anything they had to say, and by their polite, but firm dismissal of their further company when the Countess had left the restaurant with her parents and Gladys Cherry, so the four of them could get to know the ship as well as they could until the arrival to Cherbourg – which made sense, as the Countess' parents would be getting off then. In the end, her mother had gone off to try make new acquaintances, while Cal had attempted to drag Rose off so they could take their own look around the ship – which she had refused, saying she wanted to put up some paintings in their stateroom. That had been what pleased Cal and her mother the least, but as Rose had taken the care to part ways with him and her mother in front of their lunch companions, neither had tried to stop her.

By now, standing in the suite with Trudy by her side, and with a crate containing several paintings she had bought in Paris in front of them, Rose had no idea of where her mother and fiancé were, but she thought little about it. She was far more interested in talking to Trudy about which paintings should be put up in the stateroom.

"How about this one for your bedroom, Miss Rose?" Trudy asked, holding up a painting of several water lilies floating on the surface of a calm pond.

As her hands moved to grasp the sides of the painting as well, Rose gave it a long look, while she mentally compared it with a mental image of the layout of her bedroom.

"I don't think so," she finally said, trying to break it as politely as possible to her maid. "I think this one would look better here in the sitting room."

Trudy nodded, and let go of the painting, continuing her search as Rose went over and put the painting of the water lilies on an armchair. After setting it down, she leaned back, and then smiled a bit. They were starting to get some color in this room by now.

"What do you think of this one for your bedroom instead, Miss Rose?" Trudy asked.

Hearing her maid's voice, Rose turned around, and saw Trudy holding up a painting of a ballerina in a blue tutu, balanced only on her right foot, with her left leg stretched out, and her arms spread sideways, as though she was literally flying off the stage she danced on. And just like that, she promptly agreed with her maid Of all the paintings she had bought, this was without a doubt the one Rose liked the most. The way the ballerina moved, completely unrestrained, not caring about the viewers' thoughts, and emanating bliss to such an extent that it flowed out of the painting and into the viewer had been perfectly painted by the artist - a something Degas if she remembered the name right. But it was a bittersweet feeling. Even though she loved the way how the artist's freedom was portrayed, she couldn't help but to feel a little bit sad at how it was so difficult for her to achieve half of the freedom this dancer was experiencing.

Still, that didn't make her think differently on the choice.

"Yes," Rose replied, as she walked over to Trudy. "That's the ideal painting to put up the bedroom."

At least, Rose believed it was. After all, if it stayed in her bedroom, Rose would be able to get some looks at it before falling asleep, and maybe it would help her to dream with the sort of freedom this dancer experienced until she was able to obtain it.

But right as she was about to take the painting from Trudy's hands, a low creaking noise came through, and an instant afterwards, Cal walked into the stateroom. Rose felt a pang of dread stabbing at her when she saw him. She could already guess he wanted something of her – and it was rare for him to ask her something she wouldn't mind doing.

Sure enough, even as he closed the door he was already looking for her, and it took only an instant for his eyes to train on her like an eagle's on a hare. But then, the corners of his lips twitched upwards, and a mix of a scoff and a guffaw came from them.

"Already putting up those finger-paintings you bought, Rose?" he asked. "You are certainly eager to display those wastes of money."

Out of the corner of her eye, Rose caught sight of Trudy curtsying at her and retreating to her bedroom, so she could put up the painting. After being reasonably sure her maid was far enough not to be forced to hear spoken arguments, Rose said, "If that's what you think they are, fine. You're entitled to your opinion. But just to remind, I happen to think differently."

His lips stretched in a smirk meant to be indulgent, Cal chuckled in the amused manner of someone who found a person's silly antics funny in a way.

"Rose, you should learn to be less naïve. None of those artists whose paintings you bought will amount to anything other than making men like me spend money to satisfy their fiancées' whims."

Trying not to clench her fists in irritation, Rose said in the firmest tone she could muster, "You were the one who demanded I paid them with your money in the first place. And if I bought them, it wasn't so they would be closed inside a box."

Cal's amused smirk disappeared in an instant, to be replaced by hints of anger. Rose remained expressionless, but she frowned inwardly. Cal never liked to be challenged, and liked even less to hear the suggestion that anything he may have done was wrong. Rose had never been the sort who would permanently lay low, but she knew better than to risk more than a few sparse moments of defiance if she didn't want his bad temper to build up too much.

"Why are you here, anyway?" Rose asked. "I never thought you would take such a brief walk."

His irritation faltered for a few moments at her change of subject, but returned quickly as he spat, "I would look like a fool taking a walk on my own when I'm an engaged man." He jerked his head toward her bedroom. "So get your hat and come on."

A flicker of relief came through Rose at those words. Being showed off in front of strangers like a prized possession was among the least unpleasant things Cal had ever wanted her to do since they became engaged, and although it was frequent for Rose to end up tired and with aching feet after such experiments, she had gone through that enough times to develop a habituation of sorts.

Still, it was hardly something she looked forward to.

"I still have some paintings to put up," she said, hoping to delay Cal's display of her for a moment.

"You can do that later," Cal replied, sounding an edge more annoyed than he had been just before. "Let's go."

As if to drive his point across, he gave a step toward her. An urge to recoil rushed through Rose, but she stayed in her place, and instead drove it out in another way.

"Let me just make sure that that last painting gets put up in the right place then," she said.

Not waiting for him to reply, Rose turned around and walked toward what would be her bedroom. She wished she had put her hat at a different location, as that would allow her to spend more time on putting the painting on the right place and then getting her hat. As it stood, she would have to go on that walk sooner than she would wish to.

But like it had happened when she had been required to go to have lunch with her mother and Cal, delaying the inevitable did nothing to make the dreaded moment better when it finally arrived. Only this time, she was more unlikely to have the same sort of pleasant surprise than when she'd had lunch with the Countess and her travelling companions.

When she entered her bedroom, she saw the painting of the ballerina put up on top of her vanity table, right beside her hat. Trudy was also there, standing beside the table, and looking around the bedroom in pure awe, like Rose had seen her doing several times before, on every part of the ship she'd been at with her. However, as Trudy heard Rose's steps, she turned around and dutifully asked, "Is the painting alright here, Miss? Or should I put it somewhere else?"

A cursory look at the painting in conjunction with its location was all it took for Rose to decide that this was a nice enough place for it to rest, if not the only realistic location for it if she wanted to look at it before falling asleep in this bedroom.

"Here will be fine," Rose replied, as she moved over to her vanity table to grab her hat. "Thank you, Trudy."

Trudy nodded, and then, as if she thought she wouldn't be required to do anything else, she again started looking around the bedroom in awe, as if she wanted to take every tiny detail in.

"You sure are taken with this ship, aren't you?" Rose asked with a playful note to her voice as she put her hat on.

Like someone caught in an embarrassing moment, Trudy startled and put her hand over her mouth.

"Sorry, Miss Rose," she muttered, before she turned her head down and started looking at her shoes as if they were the most interesting thing in the bedroom.

"There's no need to apologize, Trudy," Rose reassured her. "The _Titanic _is a beautiful ship after all – not that I can take any credit for it, of course."

Her posture relaxing significantly Trudy promptly agreed, "Yes, it is beautiful. And everything smells so brand new… like it was made just for us."

At that, Trudy walked closer to her, and then said, like someone confessing a naughty deed, "I mean, just to think, that tonight, when I crawl between the sheets, I'll be the first!"

A wave of chuckles came from Rose at that comment.

"Oh, Trudy…" Rose muttered as she shook her head in amusement.

Then, her good mood was instantly shattered, when a voice said, "And tonight, when I crawl between the sheets, I'll still be the first."

Her heart raising up to her throat in alarm, Rose turned around, and saw Cal standing by the door to her bedroom, a lazy smirk on his face, and right in the middle of jerking his head at Trudy for her to get out.

"Excuse me, miss," Trudy muttered, nervousness written all over her face as she curtsied to Rose. Then, she turned away, and practically bolted out of the bedroom, as if she had an angry mob chasing her. Cal followed her with his eyes for a moment, and then closed the door behind him and ambled toward Rose, the same lazy smirk still on his face.

Making an effort to look inconspicuous, Rose turned away from him, shivers creeping up her spine more than they ever did whenever she saw Cal displaying signs of his short temper.

In what felt like no time at all, Cal had arrived right behind her, taken the hat off her head, and placed it back on her vanity table.

"The first and only," he whispered, before his arms wrapped around her waist like a vise. "Forever."

Rose sensed his breath blowing on her ear, and knew he was going to kiss her cheek. In an effort to avoid it, she craned her neck backwards and kissed his cheek, trying to make it as affectionate as possible. To her relief, Cal cooed lightly, but then his arms wrapped even more tightly around her waist, and he pressed a kiss on her shoulder.

"Yes," he murmured, more to himself than to her. "Tonight will be perfect."

As if Cal had pressed a button, a burst of fear came through Rose, and she wrenched free from his grasp, pulled the skirts of her dress up, and gave one big step away from him, her heart jumping inside her chest like a restless monkey. By miracle, she didn't fall down when doing such a move in high-heeled shoes, but her heart still seemed to want to jump out of her chest.

She knew what Cal had been talking about, and it was something she had been trying to avoid with all her strength ever since the engagement had become final. She knew enough about the subject to know it was something married couples had to go through, but she also knew how the first time was supposed to feel for a woman even if she had it with a caring man. So far, her first time hadn't come, but when her engagement to Cal became final, the prospect started looming ever closer, and that was only strengthened when he started making advances. Until now, she had been managing to delay that moment, but Cal had only been growing more restless as time passed, and from his recent behavior, Rose knew he was almost at the end of his rope.

"Rose…" he said in a tone of warning tone, every bit of the irritation she'd seen him displaying not long before returning.

In an effort to prove her point, Rose said in the firmest tone she could muster before he could say anything else, "I told thousands of times: we are not married yet. I will not have relations with you until we're lawfully wedded."

That was the main argument she had used until now, but while it had been effective at first, it had started to lose its power over time, like most things tended to.

"And I told you thousands of times: neither I nor society as a whole care about whether we are lawfully wedded or not, even if that's the front we put up," Cal said, repeating words he had spoken more times Rose had cared to count. "We are engaged, so that means we are a couple in practice if not yet by law."

As if to drive his words and their implications across, he leaned closer to her, and it took all of Rose's will not to scamper away.

"I can't do that, Cal. Not tonight." Her words came out in a meek tone, as she was unable to muster any other sort of voice through her frantic heartbeat.

Somehow, that appeased Cal a bit, and he righted himself again.

"There's no need to be nervous, Rose," he said in a tone that came across as dismissive, even though the look on his face suggested he wanted to make it sound caring. "It will just last a couple of minutes and then it will all be over."

"That's what Louis XVI must have thought when he was about to lose his head," Rose remarked. Somehow, that comment immediately struck her as appropriate after Cal had said she'd looked like she was awaiting her turn on the guillotine a matter of hours before.

Cal threw his arms up at her remark, uttering a melodramatic and excessively loud groan of hopelessness.

"Must you always make things so difficult?" he said. "Any other woman would hardly bat an eye when the time came to give away her virginity."

"Well, it just happens to be _my_ virginity," Rose replied, somehow managing to muster enough forcefulness to stand straight and speak in a firm tone, her frantic heartbeat now settled down. "And I will give it away whenever I'm ready to, god damn it."

A frown creeping onto his face, Cal raised his hand and slapped her lips with the back of his fingers in a quite forceful manner, causing Rose to groan slightly and take her hand to her mouth.

"I will not stand for you having such a dirty mouth," he spat as Rose rubbed her mouth to push the stinging feeling down. "Remember you are meant to kiss me with it."

After a moment of silence, he added, "And it's more than about time you start fulfilling your wifely duties."

The stinging in her lips pushed down to a more manageable level, Rose brought her hand down.

"Please, Cal," she begged, now unable to reach for any sliver of firmness. "Just give me some more days to get used to the idea. I promise, I will try to get myself on the right mindset for us to have our first time together before this voyage is over."

How she had managed to say all that without feeling faint, she had no idea.

Cal gave her a long look, his features looking as if they were made of stone, but his eyes betraying how displeased he was by that development. Rose's heart again started beating frantically, to the point she feared it would burst.

Then, at long last, he nodded.

"Very well," he said in a resigned tone. "But I will hold onto that. So don't you dare go back on your word. "

Relief surged through Rose at those words, so much so that she could scarcely bring herself to attempt to hide it. Thankfully, Cal either didn't see it or pretended not to notice.

"And we'll start sleeping on the same bed every night," he added. "Just to help you to get used to the idea - which you'd better do fast."

The meant-to-be-charming smile he could pull off so well coming to his face, he added, "After all, there is no better occasion for us to have a dream time for the first time than on the maiden voyage of the Ship Of Dreams."

Rose repressed a frown. Sleeping in the same bed as Cal seemed like giving him her virginity in a silver platter. But she knew better than to push her luck at this moment.

"Right," she said, her words sounding forced even as she spoke them. "But don't make any advances, or you will regret it!"

Cal put a hand in front of his mouth at those words, and a wave of muffled laughter came from behind it. Although he certainly was not fond of her defiance on most occasions, he always seemed to find it unreasonably funny whenever Rose actually resorted to threatening him. True, all of her threats had been empty so far… but she always vowed to herself that someday, any time soon, one of them wouldn't be.

"I'll keep it in mind," he replied in a congenial manner. "Now come on. And step lively, we still have many things to look forward to today."

Not giving her the time to reply, he grabbed her shrub-like hat and slapped it down on her head. Knowing what she had to do, Rose carefully straightened it up, and then allowed Cal to link arms with her, as the two of them walked toward the door that lead to the corridor, and Rose slipped into the mindset she always entered when Cal paraded her around like a trophy.

But as she did so, she also wondered what Cal meant exactly when he'd told her they still had many things to look forward to.

* * *

_On the Titanic's starboard bridge wing, April 10__th__, 1912, 05:45 p.m._

His forearms resting on top of the bridge wing's bulwark, with a pair of binoculars held in his right hand, Wilde stared into the horizon, half of his being alert to spot anything that might endanger the _Titanic _if it came too close, and the rest of him trying to feel for anything unusual that might be happening anywhere on the ship. As senior officer on the watch, the responsibility for the vessel and each one of the souls on board came down on his shoulders over the four hours he spent on the bridge, and to make sure they were all safe, he needed to take notice of as many things as possible at the same time, and make a decision in a split-second should anything become unusual.

It had been a fair bit of a jarring surprise when he had first become a senior officer years before, but by now, it was already a routine, mainly after performing the same duty so many times on the _Olympic_. That was not to say he was less aware of his responsibility than he had been ever before, but simply that he already knew how things worked.

And although this time he could still feel slightly more restless than he had been when on watch at most other ships he'd served on, he was calmer by far than he had been when the voyage started. Regardless of its rather troubled beginning, the maiden voyage had been going perfectly until now. The ship's engines ran like clockwork beneath him, all equipment was in a condition as pristine as if it had just been manufactured, and from what he had gathered, all crewmembers on duty were where they should be, performing their duties splendidly. Granted, the coal fire in Boiler Room 5 kept burning as strong as ever according to the most recent information, the _Titanic_ would get to Cherbourg rather later than it was supposed to, and they had already passed by a few ships, but the first simply would take time to be put out, the second was to be expected after their delayed departure, and the third was perfectly normal.

The only remotely unusual thing that had happened after the departure had been that meeting with the First Class lady, but even that no longer seemed important to Wilde, as it simply made no sense musing about a random passenger he'd never seen before.

Still, the strange feeling he had about this ship kept clinging to him like a barnacle, and refused to be pulled off. If not for his sheer devotion to duty and his awareness of its importance, Wilde was certain he would already have allowed himself to succumb to it. Ironically, that was the last thing he should do if he wanted to avoid a disaster, as paying attention to bad thoughts would only make a disaster all the more likely to occur.

As the thought came to him, he couldn't help but to shake his head in hopelessness, although, for some reason, an ironic smirk tugged at the corners of his lips.

However, his expression became dead serious when he heard the sound of shoes beating on the deck at a regular rhythm. Knowing what that meant, Wilde stood straight and turned around, to see Lightoller walking toward him. Realizing what that most likely meant, Wilde put his free hand into his pocket, took his watch out, and checked the time.

Apparently, his watch on the bridge had gone by more quickly than he had realized, and Lightoller, fulfilling the standard practice, had arrived a quarter of an hour early to get acquainted with how things went. But typically, only half of the time at most was used to actually exchange information, and whatever spared was used for small talk if the two officers got along well. As that wasn't the case here, either Lightoller intended to make the effort to get along Captain Smith had requested of them, or he wanted some time to rile Wilde up before the official end of his watch.

Not that Wilde would give him that satisfaction.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Lightoller," Wilde greeted, taking the care to sound as polite as possible, and to address the Second Officer in the professional manner two officers were expected to use at such situations.

"Mr. Wilde," Lightoller replied in a polite but stiff manner that almost managed to look relaxed in comparison to the nod of acknowledgment he gave afterwards.

Then, with all 'pleasantries' out of the way, he went straight to business.

"What is the ship's current situation?" he demanded rather than asked.

Not expecting anything particularly different or better, Wilde slipped his watch back into his pocked, and replied, "The most constant and ordinary situation that could be expected. The engines have been working smoothly, the rest of the equipment remains as perfectly functional as I was told it was at the time of the sea trials, and the most recent observations indicate we'll keep meeting excellent weather and smooth waters until we get to Cherbourg. The only issue that may eventually prove dangerous is the coal fire in Boiler Room 5, but as of now, it is causing no problems for anyone besides those in the boiler room, and there is no other plan to put it out other than to remove the coal close to it and let it burn out."

As he spoke of it, Wilde couldn't help but to think that perhaps the coal fire, in spite of burning fairly strongly, perhaps hadn't been intense enough, as it had not been considered an impediment to the maiden voyage by the inspectors during the Board of Trade muster. Granted, such a thing was entirely owed to the fact the coal fire had been concealed – but if it had been strong enough, there would have been no way to hide it. And if it had been discovered, the ship would have to be sent back to Belfast, so the fire could burn out safely and repairs made afterwards. That would inevitably delay the maiden voyage a great deal, and for a second time at that, and therefore a decision had been made to conceal the coal fire.

To be honest, the way things had stood at the time of the inspection, the coal fire had not been strong enough for not to be dealt with even during the voyage, but still, no chances had been taken, and the coal fire had been concealed. And Wilde had a very strong feeling as to who had given the order for such arrangements to be made.

His only source of relief was that, coal fires like the one in Boiler Room 5 were of the sort that could be taken care of without disturbing an overseas journey, and even without causing danger to anyone, provided all involved parties were cautious.

Still, having a miniature inferno in the ship's belly during the maiden voyage seemed as much of a bad sign as a near-collision less than a minute after the intended departure.

"Is there anything else I should be aware of, Mr. Wilde?" Lightoller asked, making the Chief Officer realize he'd somehow sensed Wilde's unease.

Wilde kept the same exterior, but he let out a string of curses inwardly. Lightoller could sniff out anything that he perceived a weakness wherever Wilde was concerned, and although just about all those clues were fake as everything, it never ceased to annoy him.

But again, Wilde wouldn't give Lightoller the satisfaction of having annoyed him.

"If there was, I would tell you, Mr. Lightoller," Wilde replied, his tone calm and even, but the hand of his that didn't hold the binoculars itching slightly, as if it wanted to clench into a fist.

Lightoller looked like he wanted to smirk, but was restraining that urge for whatever reasons he had. Wilde took advantage of the moment of silence to briefly turn around and make sure the ship hadn't gotten close to anything dangerous during the time he'd spent talking to Lightoller. To his relief, nothing lay in the _Titanic_'s path besides the ocean it sailed through.

"Should I take that to mean there may be something wrong that you feel I better not be aware of?" he inquired in a very interested and clearly provocative manner, after Wilde had turned back around.

Unfortunately, he'd put his foot in his mouth, because, in a burst of inspiration, Wilde remarked, "Well, there is something wrong here, but it has nothing to do with this ship's machinery, course, or fuel. But I am sure you are more than aware of what that is, my good sir."

Rather than give any hint of looking affected or upset, Lightoller smiled, which made Wilde recoil, as it was the one that always came to Lightoller's face whenever he felt he had a particularly good verbal jab to use.

"Indeed I am," he replied. "Unfortunately, it is not within my power to repair that fault, it is in yours only. And you missed out your chance to do it when you did not take advantage of the suggestion I kindly gave you this morning."

Wilde's expression morphed into a grimace for a tiny instant, but rapidly pulled itself together, and he gave Lightoller the most annoying smirk he could muster.

"Well, I may have not have taken advantage of your suggestion, but don't worry, I'll certainly take the first chance to teach you to watch your tongue that I have," he replied, widening his annoying smirk as much as he could.

Lightoller's smile shifted into a snarl, but this time, before he had the time to say anything else, another voice was heard in the general area.

"You two are not having a verbal duel again, are you?"

The words caused Wilde's eyes to widen, and Lightoller to stand stiff and straight as a spindle. Then, the two of them turned toward the sound, and saw Captain Smith standing there, an all-knowing look on his face, looking like someone who'd caught his charges misbehaving.

As soon he was able to, Wilde replied in a calm, collected tone, feeling his whole body more rigid than stone, "No, sir. Mr. Lightoller and I were not having any form of verbal duel. We were only having a calm conversation."

Smith seemed anything but convinced by those words, but a matter of instants after Wilde had spoken, Lightoller said, "Mr. Wilde is right. There was no argument between me and him. We simply were making the effort to get along that was requested of us."

Smith's penetrating gaze seemed to encompass the two of them, as if he was reading both of his officers like a book. It was a skill every Captain would better have, and the vast majority of them did, but Smith seemed to be one of the best at that. Fortunately, he was also kinder and more understanding than a good number of Captains were – not to say he tolerated any funny business or didn't know how to bellow out orders. After all, meek, quiet chaps never made it far as sailors, much less as officers.

"Well, it is good to see you are making the effort I asked you to," Smith finally said in a slightly amused manner, chuckling quietly afterwards. "But may I encourage you both to work a little bit more on the final result?"

Wilde inwardly sighed in relief, and felt his entire being relaxing, so much so that he almost dropped the binoculars. Lightoller's spine also seemed to loosen up slightly, but at the same time, he couldn't help but to speak up himself, "Sir, I apologize for changing the subject so suddenly, but is there anything you need to tell either of us?"

Smith turned toward Lightoller, the look of slight amusement still on his face, and said, "As a matter of fact, there is. Mr. Lightoller, please relieve Mr. Wilde for a few moments. I need to talk to him."

For whatever reason, Lightoller took some time to reply, but when he spoke, his voice was firm and resolute. "Yes, sir."

With those words, Smith turned around, and Wilde gave the binoculars to Lightoller, the Second Officer glaring at him as he accepted them. After meeting Lightoller's gaze for as long as he could both without wasting time and without giving the impression he didn't have the moral fiber to stand it, Wilde followed after the Captain. The two men walked until they were about 65 feet away from the bridge, by Lifeboat 5.

Wilde gave a look around, and, after making sure no one was around to listen to them, he asked, "What is it you want to tell me, sir?"

After taking a glance around himself, Smith turned to Wilde, and said, "There's no need for 'sir' now, Henry. We are in private after all."

Wilde nodded in acknowledgement. Although hierarchy was meant to be in place when on duty, he and Captain Smith had been friends for a number of years now, and treated themselves as such when in private.

"Right," Wilde said, as his posture relaxed ever so slightly in a further sign of acknowledgement. "What do you want to talk to me about, Edward?"

"Nothing much," Smith replied in a reassuring tone. "I simply want to know if you would be interested in accompanying me during the greeting of the first class passengers that will board at Cherbourg."

Those words caused Wilde to instantly make a face like that of a child who was told to take medicine or to drink a teaspoon of cod liver oil.

"I don't think so," he replied, his mind easily picturing the task of socializing with passengers and repeating words of welcoming over and over again like a parrot.

He knew both those tasks had to be fulfilled, and in no way he wished the passengers to have a bad voyage, but interacting with them was far too difficult. Not only was there a whole list of rules to fulfill, but one had to look like he sincerely enjoyed every minute of it. And Wilde knew that Smith did enjoy such things, and that was one of the main reasons why he had been appointed Captain of both the _Olympic_ and the _Titanic_ – although his sailing skills had also been a deciding factor. But Wilde himself didn't really enjoy interacting with passengers, at least those from First Class. And as much as he wanted to, he wasn't Captain yet, so there was no need for him to be burdened with this extra duty.

But Smith seemed to think otherwise.

"It will be good for you," the Captain encouraged. "When you become a Captain yourself, you will be expected to greet the First Class passengers as well, and you will inevitably have to interact with at least a few of them. I'm simply giving you a few chances to practice."

Wilde did all he could to repress a sigh. He didn't want to be rude, and he knew Smith had made the offer with the best intentions, but there was no way to walk around the fact that he, unlike Smith, would rather not interact with first class passengers.

"I still don't think that is the best of ideas," Wilde replied, the tiniest bit of adamant stubbornness slipping into his voice.

Apparently realizing it was better not to pull the string too hard, Smith took the care to give him a reassuring look, and calmly said, "I am not giving you an order, nor am I trying to force you to do anything. I am merely passing some good advice onto a friend. Remember, Henry, the more passengers in whose good graces you fall when you finally become Captain, the more likely you are to gain command of ships destined to be prestigious, and the better paid you are likely to be as a result."

Wilde frowned slightly at the prospect. He had never been a man who would fight with all his strength for the very best share of anything, and he certainly did not enjoy being in the spotlight. But the prospect of earning some extra money did sound tempting. Granted, he would already earn more automatically when he became Captain, but the possibility of being even better paid was something a bit of common sense dictated he should at least consider. While his and his children's living was more comfortable than that of many people – including just about every steerage immigrant travelling on the _Titanic_ – a bit of a higher income was something it was better not to turn down, mainly if financial emergencies were to be considered. And even if he didn't manage to follow in Smith's footsteps when it came to socializing with passengers – something he frankly wasn't really interested in trying, and, to put it bluntly, he could never do simply to not being made of the appropriate stuff – a bit of practice and habituation regarding the task was not something to exactly throw away.

"Very well, Edward," Henry relented. "I will be joining you at Cherbourg, after I finish my rounds and have my dinner."

A pleased smile on his face, Smith nodded forcefully, and patted the Chief Officer's shoulder as he said, "That's the spirit, Henry!"

In a quieter voice, he added, "I look forward to seeing you at Cherbourg." Then, as if a sudden thought had come to him, he asked, "You know which entrance the First Class passengers are going to use, don't you?"

A brief chuckle reverberated through Wilde's throat, and the corners of his mouth momentarily twitched upwards.

"The starboard entrance on D Deck," he replied, a hint of good humor in his voice. "I may not have been meant to sail on _Titanic_, but I know how things work on her."

"Just checking," Smith replied, in a noticeably more good-humored voice. Then, he shifted to a professional sounding one. "Now, Mr. Wilde, go back to your watch until the time comes for Mr. Lightoller to relieve you."

Used to such changes from professional treatment to cordial one and vice-versa, Wilde replied, "Yes, sir."

Then, he turned around toward the bridge, and took his pocket watch out as he did so. To his relief, the conversation with Smith had burned up a considerable amount of time, so he wouldn't have to deal with Lightoller for very long before being relieved.

Before he'd even moved four feet away, though, Smith called, as if reading his mind, "Just one last thing."

Wilde promptly looked around, and Smith added, "I know this will be difficult, Mr. Wilde, but again, do make sure you and Mr. Lightoller try to get into a cordial relationship."

A strong urge to grimace came over Wilde. Getting along with Lightoller seemed even more unpleasant than greeting a flock of conceited First Class passengers. And the worst part was that it was a task much more difficult to avoid.

Still, Wilde kept a calm look for the most part, although his grimace kept threatening to come onto his face.

"I have been trying my utter best sir," he replied. "And I will keep doing so."

A ghost of a smirk broke Smith's official façade for a moment.

"Well, in that case I can only suggest that you also recommend you also try to make a better job each time," he said. "And don't worry, I'll take care of reminding Mr. Lightoller to do the same thing in regards to you after you leave on your rounds."

Sensing Smith had nothing more to say, Wilde turned back around and started to walk toward the bridge – and a few moments later, Smith followed after him. Wilde couldn't help but to feel quite some relief when he saw that. Lightoller never dared to rile up his temper even when in front of less senior officers or quartermasters, so as to set a good example. To do so in front of the Captain would be even more unthinkable. So, for now he only had a short time on the bridge to look forward to, before going on his rounds, and eating a fine meal at the officer's mess afterwards.

And then, onto greeting the First Class passengers set to board at Cherbourg, a thought that still made Wilde wary, even as he acknowledged it might be a wise thing to do in preparation for the future. Hopefully, having a nice dinner beforehand would be enough to help him carrying out that task as well as he was supposed to.

* * *

_Well, one more chapter is over. I sincerely hope you all had the best possible time reading it._

_Now, onto the usual list regarding details that readers may want to nitpick about... well, to begin with, I know that the Countess of Rothes as I describe her does not look at all like the one we see in James Cameron's movie in terms of personality, but I took the chance to make some more research on the lady, and after what I found out, it seemed better to portray her as the real person was like than like the movie's portrayal. And yes, the real Countess's husband did intend to start an orange business, and the Countess did have two sons that she had to leave behind when she travelled to join her husband.  
_

_Also, the first segment of this chapter is - quite obviously - based on the first scene in which we see Cal's suite in Cameron's movie, as well as the deleted scene of 'I'll Be The First'. However, I confess I enabled myself to change quite a lot of things regarding it, so as to more properly suit the ideas I have regarding this story. Of course, James Cameron owns the official version of it - like that of anything else regarding his movie.  
_

_Regarding the much larger section with Wilde, which is the largest one regarding details that may be pointed out by readers familiarized with the Titanic, there is a fair lot more to say, but I will try to be as brief as possible, without omitting important information.  
_

_To begin with, regarding the binoculars I describe Wilde as holding, the truth is that, although the lookouts complained about a lack of binoculars, the senior officers on watch at the bridge were reported to have binoculars by Lookout Frederick Fleet. I did not manage to figure out whether each of the senior officers (Smith, Wilde, Murdoch, and Lightoller) had his own binoculars or whether there was simply a pair of binoculars available for the senior officer on watch, but I used the latter option in this story, simply because it did not seem to me that, had there been four accessible pairs of binoculars on the Titanic, no one thought of making arrangements for one or two pairs to be loaned to the lookouts after they complained of the lack of them. Aafter all, the senior officers on watch weren't meant to be on the bridge all at the same time.  
_

_Regarding the coal fire: yes, there really was a coal fire on the Titanic, which started before it left Belfast, and was located in Boiler Room 5. I am not sure of whether it was actually concealed, as I mention it having been, but it is a valid possibility, as coal fires can grow dangerous if they get too intense (like any fire at that) and it's possible the Board of Trade might have deemed it wiser not to put the ship to sea with a coal fire raging in a boiler room - and as a matter of fact, one of the inspectors, Maurice Clarke, testified that the coal fire had not been reported to him, which he said was not unusual for small fires.  
_

_As an extra caveat regarding that topic, Lightoller actually testified that he was unaware of the coal fire, which seems to support Clarke's statement, and is actually incompatible with how I have portrayed him so far. But it is possible that Lightoller knew considerably more than he let on regarding a lot of things - at least, he testified at the British Inquiry that he was involved with the loading of way less lifeboats than he turned out to be involved with after close examination made in recent years. Also, Leading Fireman Charles Hendrickson testified that, although he had been working with the White Star Line for five years, he had never seen a coal bunker fire, which seems to indicate it wasn't exactly usual - and by logic, unusual things on a ship should be things that the officers would be aware of. But, to be fair to Lightoller, it is not impossible that it was Hendrickson who was omitting something for whatever reasons he had. _

_In the end, I followed the perspective that coal fires were not unheard of, and there was a standard procedure to deal with them, but they were deemed as serious enough for at least the senior officers to know about them. I sincerely hope that does not offend anyone.  
_

_Now, regarding Wilde and Smith being friends, I found a few 'official' sources saying so. I don't know how solid they are, but it seems a valid interpretation that they are speaking the truth. Also, I don't know whether the Chief Officer would also greet First Class passengers with the Captain, or either whether it was a standard practice for the Captain to greet First Class passengers, but it is known that Captain Smith greeted the First Class passengers that boarded the Titanic, so it is possible that it was a standard practice. And having established him and Wilde as friends, it seemed appropriate enough to have Smith inviting Wilde to come along to give him a chance to practice that duty.  
_

_Lastly... like I said on the prologue, it is not my intention to disrespect the real Wilde and Lightoller by portraying them as disliking each other. Nor is it my intention to anger Lightoller fans by portraying him as detestable in Wilde's eyes. Remember, if Wilde doesn't like him, and I write things from his perspective, I can't very well portray him as likeable. Again, there is no confirmed truth to the opinion that Lightoller and Wilde disliked each other, but, also like I said in the prologue, it seems permissible to use that in a fanfiction. And remember, the fact Wilde and Lightoller dislike each other doesn't mean either of them is an evil bastard, and it's certainly not my intention to portray either of them as such.  
_

_Well... I hope I didn't exhaust you by making you read this long note. Best regards to all of you, and until the next chapter.  
_


End file.
